


Harry Potter and The Sexual Awakening

by jrayoh23



Series: Harry Potter and the Sexual Awakening [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Draco blushes a lot, Harry has a lot of sex, Hogwarts Era, Lots of wanking, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Pre-Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Slash, Slow Burn, Some of canon remains and some doesn't, Sort of memoir, change in pov, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6998812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrayoh23/pseuds/jrayoh23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter gets outed by Rita Skeeter in a recent Daily Prophet article and decides to take matters into his own hands. He decides to write a tell-all that everyone wants, the story of how he came to terms with his sexuality. What no one, especially Draco Malfoy, expects is this book doubles as a love letter to someone Harry calls, L.B.</p><p>In the midst of being assigned to read and review Potter's new book, Draco realizes that some of the stories Potter tells in his book seem a little too familair. Thus, bringing up old feelings about the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First things first; I need to thank protectnevillelongbottom (Leah) because without her constant help and encouragement, I doubt I could have, or would have finsihed this. Not only did she read it as I wrote it, she also edited it for me once it was complete. So, thank you!!! 
> 
> Second things second; This switches POV a bit. The POV's you will be dealing with are as follows:  
> 1\. 1st Person Harry POV as the author of his book (you will read his actual chapters from the book).  
> 2\. 3rd Person Draco POV as he reads the book and occasionally runs into Harry.  
> 3\. 1st and 3rd Person POV as the different authors from differnt wizarding magazines and the like review and interview Harry. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!!

**Harry Potter and the Sexual Awakening**

Accolades for Potter’s first novel:

“Is there anything the Saviour can't do?”  
-Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ Columnist

“Astonishing, wild, and quite endearing.”  
-Pansy Parkinson, Editor of _Witch Weekly_

“Potter manages to be sexy and funny while discussing a delicate subject.”  
-Draco Malfoy, Author of _Misunderstood Manor_ and Staff Writer for _The Bent Wand_ (Wizarding LGBTQ Magazine)

“The tell-all we all have been waiting for.”  
-Lee Jordan, _Witchever Way the Wizard Blows_ (Wireless Program)

“I was positively entertained. Couldn't put the thing down.”  
-Luna Lovegood, Editor and Columnist of _Quibbler_


	2. Draco Hears a Very Interesting Interview on the Wireless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco arrives at work to find everyone huddles around the wireless. Coming through the speakers is Harry Potter's voice and he is discussing a book her wrote ABOUT SEX! Draco is positively freaking out because there is mention of a bloke who Harry called, L.B. And that seems a bit familiar to Draco. 
> 
> As if he weren't freaking out enough all ready, Draco is assigned Harry's book, so now he has to go pick one up.

**_Location: The Bent Wand: Wizarding World’s first LGBTQ Magazine_ **   
**_Morning of Potter’s Wireless Interview_ **

Draco arrived at work late that morning, coffee cup in hand and the office was full of chatter. Not one witch or wizard sat at their desk. The small office looked like a ghost town, though he knew it wasn't because of the loud conversation coming from somewhere in the office. Abandoned parchments and half pushed-in chairs. It was like there was an evacuation or something.

Finally Draco spotted everyone. Instead of working, they were all surrounded around the small radio in the break area. So Draco decided it must be good and waltzed into the room, sipping at the warm beverage that was his only salvation after the shitty month he had been having.

Once he spotted Blaise, who was wearing a particularly tight fitting shirt, he pushed his way over to stand next to him. “What's all the fuss about, eh?” Draco asked with a nudge to Blaise’s side, taking another long-deserved sip of his coffee. The rich liquid working its way down his throat, warming his belly. He decided that coffee was the only thing in his life that didn't let him down.

Blaise turned to face Draco and made a scrunched up face that rather reminded Draco of when Blaise was about to cum, but instead he spoke, “Potter’s on the wireless.” The man’s features lit up the way one’s might at learning they received Outstanding in all their NEWTs.

“Why?”

“Wrote a book, apparently.”

“A book? On what? How to be a bleeding hero?” Draco snorted at his own joke, thinking it was really quite funny, but Blaise only turned back to him and pulled that scrunched face again. Blaise’s usually delicate dark brown features were sharpened by his annoyance at Draco.

Still with a scrunched face, Blaise snapped, “No, sex. Now shush. I want to hear.”

Draco coughed on the hot beverage that only moments ago gave him pleasure. Betrayed by coffee now it would seem. And finally, he heard Potter’s voice through the small speakers. It was like a splash of cold water in the face as the dulcet tones of Potter’s now-mature voice spoke.

***

 **Lee Jordan (LJ)** : Hello, hello, hello! It’s Lee here with your favorite wireless program, Witchever Way the Wizard Blows, where we talk about…well, anything and everything. Today, however, I have an old mate of mine from Hogwarts. You all may have heard of him: Harry Potter.

 **Harry Potter (HP)** : Good morning, Lee. Morning London!

 **LJ** : So good to see you, mate. Been a long time, yeah?

 **HP** : Oh, about a year I think?

 **LJ** : Yeah, thereabouts. So, of course I have you here to discuss your new book, Harry Potter and the Sexual Awakening. Dirty stuff there, eh?

 **HP** : A bit, yeah. That's not all there is though.

 **LJ** : Oh, ‘course not. It’s all very top notch stuff. It's…what did you call it? All the filler that they left out of the biography series written about you?

 **HP** : Basically, yeah. The author of the bios left out the…more delicate topics, specifically my sexuality. At the time, it didn't seem to matter but now, as I have been outed in an issue of the Daily Prophet for walking out of a Muggle gay bar, I figured it’s as good a time as any to tell my side of things. Especially since…and this is me quoting Hermione word-for-word—since most of the Wizarding World will look to me for an example.

 **LJ** : I’d have to agree there. You’ve been a household name even before you could walk. I must say, I am fond of the title. It’s a play off of the way they titled the bio’s?

 **HP** : Yeah, that was Ron’s idea actually. He said ‘wouldn't it be funny if you titled your book something like; Harry Potter and the something?’ Since all of the bio’s are like that. Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, blah, blah. Figured people would get a kick from it.

 **LJ** : I know I did! Now, many listeners have owled in and the biggest question on all their minds is who is the L.B. you refer to in the book? Basically everyone else has been named, but this L.B is a mystery!

 **HP** : I was too, uh, shy to ask for their cooperation and so I couldn't use their real name. But there is no way I am going to reveal it now! The legal ramifications alone. The Wizengamot would be on my arse faster than I could catch a snitch.

 **LJ** : I guess they will have to be kept secret…for now. Can't blame me for asking?

 **HP** : ‘Course not.

 **LJ** : Went to Hogwarts with us, yeah?

 **HP** : Yes, but that's all I will say.

 **LJ** : Can I ask if he has reached out to you yet? That love letter at the end of your book was very moving.

 **HP** : No, he hasn't reached out to me. I'm still hopeful. The book’s only just been released. There's still time.

 **LJ** : I really hope he shows up, mate. Truly.

 **HP** : Thanks, Lee. Me too, me too.

 **LJ** : Stay tuned and I will try my damnedest to make Harry blush with all my invasive questions!

***

_**Location: Still, The Bent Wand  
After Potter’s Wireless Interview** _

Draco was still standing in the small room, alone now, eyes fixed on the wireless. His whole body felt wobbly as if someone had removed all his bones and he was about to become a pile of empty skin on the floor. _Potter wrote a book…about sex. And someone with the initials L.B was apparently Potter’s long lost love. L.B_ , Draco thought. _No, it couldn't be. No way. There is no way he could mean…L.B, as in…no, that's ludicrous._

All at once, his body came back to him and he felt like he could move. He turned around quickly to make his way to his desk, but before he could reach the sanctity of his very comfortable, very welcoming desk chair, he was cut off by Dean Thomas, former Gryffindor, former rival, current pain in the arse editor.

“Malfoy?” Dean asked. His voice full of, what was it, glee? Was Dean acting gleeful? Draco felt his stomach lurch. The only time Dean was this happy was if the Harpie’s won a match, or if he was about to assign Draco a story he would not enjoy writing like last week’s spotlight on which spells and charms are best for the bedroom.

“Morning, boss. Can I help you?”

“Yes. Got your assignment for this issue.”

Draco nodded, unwilling to speak for fear of letting loose a string of curses because he was almost sure that he was going to be the lucky writer to get saddled with Potter’s new book, which would mean Draco would have to read the book that apparently detailed all of Potter’s sexual encounters. How utterly mortifying it would be to read that. Especially after their last encounter went tits up.

Dean smiled at Draco, smiled a wide sort of grin that would have been attractive if Draco wasn't sure he was about to get bad news. “Potter’s book. Go pick it up. Read it. Review it.”

Relieved, but also afraid that Dean had just forgotten to mention it, Draco asked, “No interview?” He held his breath for the answer.

“No, just a review. It's our spotlight for the issue, so make it good, mate,” Dean winked and then headed over to his office. Draco stood paralyzed again, this time halfway between his desk and the break area. If he was being honest with himself, he was glad for the assignment if only because it meant he could blame his reading the book on work and never have to admit that he would have read it anyway.

Blaise sat at his desk, which was the one directly in front of Draco’s, with a positively accomplished look on his face. He looked as if he had just won the Triwizard Tournament and the House Cup all at once. “Why are you smiling like that?” Draco asked as he settled into his desk chair.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just…well, you were assigned Potter’s book, yeah?”

“How’d you…?” Draco started to ask, but then the smile on Dean’s face paired with Blaise’s accomplished look told him all he needed to know. “You bloody arsehole. You told Dean to give me the story?”

“Had to,” Blaise stated matter-of-factly, as if he truly believed he had no other option, “How else will you ever get off your arse and tell Potter how you feel?”

“You had no right.”

“I had all the right.”

Draco, still deciding whether he was totally cross with his mate or actually quite pleased at the opportunity to get an inside look at Potter’s life, settled on teasingly insulting Blaise, “You stupid wanker. I decided to never think about any of that again. You said it was for the best, remember?”   
“Changed my mind, I have.”

“Then you are coming with me to Flourish and Blott’s to pick it up.”

“Fine, I’ve nothing to do for lunch today.”

“Oh, you mean your boyfriend’s too busy with all his gardening to take you out?”

“Come off it, mate. Don't be sour with me just because you’ve got to read all the juicy details of your big-time crushe’s sex life, which doesn't include you because you were too chicken to do anything about it,” Blaise ended his sentence with a mock pout and a bat of the eyelashes.

Draco pulled a face at Blaise to try to hide the fact that he was starting to get sad. He fought back tears as he remembered that he had actually tried something, very recently in fact, and ended up rejected by Potter. Just as he had feared all those years ago when they were at Hogwarts together. 

 

 


	3. Draco Has a Very Interesting Time at Flourish and Blott's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes to Flourish and Blott's to buy Harry's book.

_**Location: Flourish and Blott’s, Diagon Alley** _   
_**Lunch Hour** _

The store was a mad house. Every witch and wizard between the ages of thirteen and eighty seemed to be crowded around a table which, no doubt, was temporary home to Potter’s new book. Draco looked over at Blaise who was still wearing the same grin from earlier. “Not bloody likely to get a book in this crowd,” Draco offered, hoping this meant he wouldn't have to be seen purchasing his boyhood rival/recurrent wet-dream-star’s book.

“Push through, Drake. You’re a big tough man, aren't you?”

“Twat.”

“Prat.”

“Fine, watch my back.”

“Of course, dear.”

Draco pushed through, getting some nasty looks from teens and elderly women alike, but he hadn't the time nor the effort to care too deeply if he was stepping on any toes, literally or figuratively. He needed that book.

Once he was at the front of the crowd, he saw it. There weren't just books on that table. No, that table was the only thing between Draco and the author of said book; Harry Potter.

Harry sodding Potter. And he was smiling. At Draco. Smiling. Like a full-teeth smile. Pleased to see you smile. We’re old mates and it's been a while smile. It was enough to knock Draco on his arse, except there were so many people crowded behind him that he only fell into the woman behind him who, with a loud curse and a shove, righted his stance.

“Draco, lovely to see you,” Potter said with all the cordiality of an old mate. His always-mussed-up hair fell in his face as he spoke. Draco went a bit weak in the knees at the sight of Potter in all his purposefully unkempt handsomeness.

“I, uh, yes…wonderful to, uh…” Draco cleared his throat and silently cursed at himself to get a grip before continuing, “Yes, what a thrill, Potter. Come to get your book. My magazine wants to do a spotlight article on it.”

Smiling again, Potter spoke, “Right, you work for The Bent Wand?”

“Uh, umm, yes. How’d you…?” Draco felt his palms getting sweaty. He was sure if Potter admitted to reading The Bent Wand that he would die of something akin to embarrassment, or at least embarrassment’s very close relative. Of course Draco knew the publication was widely read, but he never pictured Potter at home reading his articles about spells and charms for the bedroom.

“I read it.”

“Ah, right. ‘Course you do,” Draco dead panned and was sure that his face was a bright shade of pink. He couldn't help but remember his recent rejection. Potter running out on him. Leaving him alone and completely vulnerable. How Potter could smile at him after that, Draco had no idea.

Grabbing up a book, whose cover was Potter in his Auror’s robes looking dashing as ever, Draco moved to walk back through the crowd, “So, I'll just be grabbing a copy and be on my…”

“Want me to sign it?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s a book signing…” Potter spoke and Draco could have sworn he saw a slight blush to Potter’s cheeks before he continued, “I'm supposed to sign the book?”

“Right, obviously. Yes, I'd like you to sign it.”

“Okay,” Potter took the book and ran his fingers over the cover slowly before opening to the title page. Draco watched him scribble something and then smile before shutting the book, “Let me know how you like it.”

“Yeah, well it will all be in the article. You can read it in the next issue,” Draco said and held the book up as if to say ‘thanks again, Potter’ and then slithered back through the crowd to pay of the book and rush home to read the blasted thing.

                                                                                     ***  
Later when he was sure he was alone, Draco braved opening the book to see what Potter had scribbled on the inside cover. Mostly, he hope it was some generic thing that Potter wrote in all the books, but he also secretly hoped it was a personal message. With a deep breath, Draco read:

 _Draco Lucius Malfoy,_  
I particularly hope you enjoy the epilogue.   
Harry James Potter 


	4. The Past is Prolouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the first few chapters of Harry's book.

**Harry Potter and the Sexual Awakening:**  
**The Boy Who Lived in the Closet**

 

To Hermione and Ron,  
Sorry you’ll have to read about me wanking off,  
but thank you for all your support.  
Without you, I don't think I would have  
had the courage to write this.

  
To the Weasley's,  
Again, sorry about the…delicate nature of this book.  
You are my family and your love  
and support mean so much.  
Read at your own risk!

To Anyone Who is Mentioned in this novel,  
Thanks for the permission to use your actual names,  
as everyone would have eventually worked it out anyways.

Seriously, continue at your own risk.  
This is not for the faint at heart,  
or those who wish to only see me as  
Harry Potter; The Savior of the Wizarding World.

 

***

 **Prologue** :  
_Because all good books have them (according to Hermione)._

This is the tell-all that everyone in the whole of London probably wants to read, but were all too polite to ask me to write. As most of you now know, thanks to Rita Skeeter, I am not exactly straight. I'm not exactly anything, just to clear that bit up.

I am Harry, just Harry.

I know that's all a bit too much to swallow (pun intended, well you’ll get it later on if you keep reading), but I do ask of you, my dearest readers, to please try to separate your idea of me as the Saviour, from the person you will undoubtedly become familiar with in this novel. I am not only one thing. I am many things and one of them is a regular ol’ person who likes sex as much as the next guy (sorry Molly and Arthur, and basically any adult that knew me when I was a wee baby).

When I decided to write this sort of…revealing novel, Ron smacked me upside the head with a rolled up Prophet and told me I must be completely mental to share my most intimate experiences. Hermione protested as well, though she was kind enough to refrain from hitting me. And, if I am honest, I see their point. A novel like this can be embarrassing for me, as well as for the people I will mention.

Rest easy knowing I have full permission from all those who are named in this novel to have done so (anyone no longer with us, I have obtained permission from their families), and anyone who wished to remain anonymous has and will stay that way. My intention is not to embarrass or out anyone. It is to tell my story, my own way this time. The biographies you all have most likely read left a few key things out.

Well, here goes nothing. And by nothing, I mean here goes the story of how I came to realize, accept, and embrace my ever-fluid sexuality.

***

**Chapter One: Closet for One**

I really did live in a closet. Okay, it was a cupboard under the stairs in my aunt and uncle’s house, but it was basically a closet. I honestly thought it was normal up until I was about six and realized my cousin Dudley had two rooms; one for his toys and another where he slept.

Realizing that I was being literally forced to live in a closet was one of my earliest memories of fairness. I felt it was unfair that Aunt Petunia forced me into such a small, limited space when I so clearly needed room to grow, room to play, or at the very least room enough to stand up properly without banging my head.

Hogwarts was the first place I felt like I was being treated fairly. I had a four-poster bed, my own clothes which fit properly because they weren't some large hand-me-downs that my aunt forced me to wear when she couldn't be bothered buying me my own clothes. I had actual meals. Meals, might I add, that I did not have to prepare or serve. Basically, Hogwarts was the best I'd felt my whole life.

That is, of course, until I realized I was still living in that cupboard under the stairs. Metaphorically speaking. Yes, I physically had room to grow, but emotionally, I was stunted. Each time I tried to experience an emotion, I was forced to instead run or fight for my life. It left little to no time at all to decide who I really was underneath the celebrity mask that was thrust upon me. It did, however, leave time for a massive amount of cardio (all the running for my life, you see).

My only focus was to stay alive and to keep everyone else alive as well. Now, that may sound like a big emotion, but I had on blinders. For the first three years at Hogwarts, I couldn't see past making it to the end of the school year alive which, believe it or not, puts a damper on one’s social life.

I didn't see people as individuals, I saw them as large groups of people who were vulnerable and potentially needed saving. Only a few individuals stood out to me. Hermione Granger, in all her wonderful bookishness. Ron Weasley, in all his loyalty and compassion for my well-being. And a few other friends; Dean, Seamus, Neville, and most of the Weasley clan. Lastly, a particular somebody stood out among the rest, seemingly unimpressed with the celebrity everyone else seemed to apply to me. Instead, he treated me like any other student. He wasn't exactly nice to me, but I took what I could get.

Unfortunately, I hadn't the time nor the energy to think about why each morning I awoke with an erection, or why whenever I was around certain people, my stomach flopped. I didn't think it important to understand that my body and mind were very much on a different page. My mind was all ‘hey, let's not die this year and if you could actually finish that parchment on charms, that’d be great’ and my body was all ‘whoa, I'm like super turned on, let’s go wank off in the shower before breakfast.’

There was hardly any room to grow or play, when each new year I was met with a new threat. If it wasn't my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it was…well, come to think of it, it was always that my DADA professor connected to good ol’ Voldy (my little pet name for him since a part of his soul took up residence in my actual body for like sixteen years). I was either permanently suspicious or desperately trying to trust people. Yes, two sides of two very different coins.

My figurative cupboard was suffocating. I felt trapped in a space that was too small for me. I felt like there had to be more to life, if only I could step out of this closet.

Of course, I made friends. Most of whom shared my Hogwarts house, as well as my dormroom. And sure, I ate chocolate frogs with them and laughed about Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris, being eerily good at spotting people out of bed after curfew, but the whole time I felt different from them. I felt like I was only on temporary leave from my cupboard. Like the way Aunt Petunia would let me out to make breakfast or to do yard work. No matter how much time I was allowed outside of my cupboard, I always knew I would end up back in there, door locked.

And it was the same with my friends.

Don't get me wrong; without them I would surely have been dead long ago, and I definitely wouldn't have passed my NEWTs (thanks again, Hermione). They were my constant in all the mess that was Voldemort (I can say his name, I defeated him after all). They always had my back when I made rash decisions to run off into the Forbidden Forest, or to explore the so-totally-off-limits-third-floor where Fluffy, the three-headed dog, took up residence. But they were still somehow so much on the outside of what I was doing.

So in third year when I noticed Ron noticing Hermione, I felt even more out of place.

Ron sure looked at Hermione an awful lot. I mean, long stares, some might even call it ogling if one were being crude (and one _is_ being crude because, seriously Ron, you looked at her so much).

Ron, my gangly (sorry mate, but you were gangly), red-headed, clumsy best mate, who took me under his wing and made me feel like a part of something for the first time in my life, so clearly had the hots for my other best mate, Hermione, who in all her bookish charm, was completely oblivious at the time (good to know she wasn't perfect at everything, yeah?).

It was like realizing how abnormal it was to live in a cupboard under the stairs all over again. Ron was allowed the space to stretch and grow as a person. He so clearly had two rooms, as Dudley did. One of those rooms was for helping me fight dark wizards and the likes, but the other was for watching Hermione study, or smiling at her each time she called him daft for not paying attention in class.

I desperately wanted a second room, or at the very least a room like Ron’s where I wasn't trapped by the expectations of an entire community of witches and wizards to be, encouraged to do something I wasn't even prepared to do. I could barely stand under the weight of it all.

All of my focus was on that; not dying and not letting anyone else die. I didn't even seen my first crush coming until I quite literally walked into them.

  
**Chapter Two: The Crushing Reality That I Was Not, in Fact, _Smooth_**

On a scale of one to like Casanova (character in a muggle book who was very good at flirting, like very good), I was maybe a two. Three if I am being generous. However, I did not let that stop me. No, once my mind it set, it’s set like dry cement. So, fourth year after my epiphany about Ron and Hermione the year previous, I set my mind to the task; I was going to have a crush too, even if it killed me (sorry, had to).

Now, I realize you cannot simply decide to _HAVE_ a crush, but at fourteen it seemed a simple enough task, especially after kicking Voldemort's half-alive ass thrice all ready. So during classes and the likes, I started to watch people. I tried to see individuals and not masses of people who needed saving.

My first crush wasn't the one I had so carefully planned. The planned crush was Cho Chang. The actual crush was much more…well, much more masculine and much less easy to understand.

Cho was a Ravenclaw, who I might add was quite beautiful (still is) and I quite fancied her long dark hair and pale skin, so I decided that was enough for a crush. Of course, I had never uttered two words to her, but that was a non-issue. I was in love, or so I told Ron.

Ron unashamedly told me I was a dunce. But hey, he wasn't much better, seeing as he totally and royally screwed up fourth year when he waited until last minute to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball.

Both of us were dunces in our own rights; Ron for stupidly assuming no one else noticed the way Hermione’s hair was suddenly less messy, or that her skin was soft and inviting, or that her bookishness was charming and not at all insufferable. Me for not realizing that just because someone has nice hair, it doesn't mean you’ll actually enjoy snogging them.

Yet, I persisted.

Amid the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament that I did _not_ enter into myself, I committed to pinning for Cho Chang. I talked about her constantly to Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. They all agreed, Cho was fit. She was fit and so I fancied her; simple.

Thus began my horrid courtship attempts.

The Yule Ball, which I think was ironically the most terrifying part of the entire Triwizard Tournament, was my goal; I was determined to ask Cho. Except Cho was basically never alone. Like seriously, so many people surrounded her at all times and since she was in a separate house, I had limited interaction time.

Ron, like the stupid git he was, tried asking a girl from Beauxbatons who just so happened to be the champion for their school and his future sister-in-law. I watched him strike out. It was brutal. It was beyond brutal. He basically yelled it at her and didn't wait for an answer. Poor Hermione had to sit through his re-telling of the incident and pretend that it didn't bother her, but I could tell that it did.

So basically after watching my best mate totally strike out, one could say I was terrified of asking Cho. I mean honestly, I experienced more second-hand embarrassment than I knew was humanly possible, so I did try to avoid making a fool of myself. Key word there; tried.

Even after my first attempt to make contact with Cho ended with me looking at her from across the Great Hall and having Pumpkin Juice spill from my mouth as I attempted to smile, I still persisted. I asked her to the Yule Ball one chilly morning in the Owlry. She, of course, politely declined because she was dating someone all ready, Cedric Diggory.

Cedric, Merlin rest his soul, was the real champion for Hogwarts. My name, as you all know, was put in the Goblet of Fire by a crazed murderer Polyjuiced as my DADA professor.

Cedric was everything a person should be; he was cordial, kind-hearted, smart, and strong. I admired him. He was loved for himself, not for a scar that was shaped like a lightning bolt. In my admiration, I suppose one could say I became obsessed with Cedric (obsession is kind of my thing as you’ll see later on). I talked about him often, too often as my mates claimed. But I was taken with him, even if I didn't exactly know why yet. Each task the tournament sent our way, he handled with this charisma that just about knocked me on my arse.

He and I, for whatever reason, shared any hints we got about the tasks. When I found out the first task was dragons in a very roundabout way from Ron, I rushed to tell Cedric so he could prepare. He was also mad at me because he was being put in the Chosen One’s shadow. I was stealing his glory, so naturally I was his enemy, persona non grata and all that.

I guess, part of the reason I shared the information with him was out of sportsmanship, but the other part was that I felt drawn to him. At the time, I would never had admitted it, but I was drawn to him in the way I was telling everyone I was being drawn to Cho. Cedric mostly ignored me and I wanted that to change, so I tracked him down and told him about the dragons.

Once he realized I hadn't lied about the dragons, he and I struck up a sort of alliance and began to help each other. I liked the attention he gave to me. I liked that it was this secret we shared that no one else was a part of. I liked that when he saw me now, he smiled.

It wasn't until the lake challenge that I wised up to what was happening.

A golden egg. I mean, really? They handed us a golden egg as a clue. Of course, I attempted to figure it out and lied to Hermione about making headway on it (she was still speaking to me that year, even if Ron wasn't).

It wasn't until Cedric gave me a hint that I figured it out. He very proudly walked up to me and whispered, “You know the Prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor? It’s not a bad place for a bath.”

Of course, he meant for me to take the egg in the water, so I could understand the mermaid’s song, but in that moment all I could do was picture Cedric, naked in a bubble bath. To say I was confused by my sudden interest in Cedric’s naked body would be an understatement. I looked the man up and down, his golden hair and amber eyes were so perfect just like the rest of his body (yes, I had seen in him naked in the locker rooms after a Quidditch match and yes, his body was as nice as one could expect). It was then that my cock was called to full attention and I thank Merlin’s ghost every day for Hogwarts robes being so damn long and flowing because without it, Cedric would have been privy to a bit of information that I wasn't quite ready to divulge just yet (as I hadn't even let myself fully understand it).

But my mind hadn't exactly caught up to my body and I responded with, “Care to join me?”, which was so much more suggestive than I had intended it to sound. Cedric was cordial as ever and just smiled at me before agreeing to meet me there that evening after dinner. I had a date and I didn't even know how I had done it. I didn’t even know it was a date, so I can definitely say that I am not Casanova.

Later, after feeling anxious the entire day (what I now can admit was pre-date jitters), I walked up to the Prefect’s bathroom and entered. I hadn't expected to see Cedric there before me, as I made sure to arrive extra early, but to my surprise he was there waiting.

He spoke quietly, “Should be alone for a while, no one comes in this time of day.” To which I replied with a very dignified, “Mmmhmm.” Cedric only smiled at me. I smiled back. It was a sheepish half-smile because, Merlin knows, I was nervous. The tension of being alone with a man, who I clearly had seen and now frequently thought about naked, in a place where people are so often naked was a bit more than I could handle. In fact, admitting to myself that I had even thought about a naked man in a way that went beyond natural curiosity was a bit too much to manage.

Cedric crossed the room and stood very close to me. So close, in fact, that I could smell his breath. It was sweet like a treacle tart. He spoke again, “Potter, am I making you nervous?” Yes, I wanted to scream, but instead I shook my head aggressively. It made Cedric laugh. His laugh echoed off the bathroom walls in a sing-songy manner that to me sounded angelic. His face was alight with the smile that seemed permanently plastered there and then Cedric took my hand, the one that wasn't holding onto the golden egg for dear life, and led me to the edge of the bath.

It was already prepared with bubbles and the steam that radiated off of the warm water hit my face like the first humid day of summer. My heart felt heavy in my chest and I was starkly aware of Cedric's hand on the small of my back, tracing small circles with his thumb. Finally, I mustered up some courage and blurted out, rather inelegantly, “Uh, are we going to take a bath together?” Cedric shook his head, not in a yes-or-no way, but more in a ‘wow, you are dense aren't you, Potter’ way (to his credit, I was and still am dense).

Cedric took the egg from my hand and placed it on the tile floor near the edge of the bath. Then, he turned to face me and with our height difference, I ended up looking directly at his throat. His neck muscles looked tight and I could see a vein throbbing and, Merlin help me, I felt the urge to nuzzle him there and kiss his neck. I resisted the urge, of course, because I had quite enough embarrassing outbursts on my resume.

Cedric still had one hand wrapped around my own hand. He slid it up my forearm, to my bicep, all the way up until he rested it on my cheek. The trail he took from palm to cheek felt white hot and tingled still, even after his hand had left the spot. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” Cedric asked me and I gulped. I had never been called anything so significant, let alone beautiful. Up until then I had thought the term was reserved for women, but when he called me beautiful, I felt pixies flying around in the deepest part of my gut.

There wasn't much talking after that, partly because I couldn't get my mouth to say words and partly because shortly after that, Cedric leaned down and kissed my cheek. His lips were soft and I could still smell the treacle tart on his breath. He kissed me again, but this time closer to the corner of my mouth. I stood completely still. I was afraid if I made a sudden move, I would be waking up from yet another dream about Cedric (which if you must know, happened almost nightly that year).

Finally, when I was sure I couldn't handle the anticipation, Cedric kissed me full on the lips.  
To say I was happy was an understatement. I felt alive. It was like the first breath after being under water. It was better than catching the snitch before the other team in a match. It was a rush and I couldn't help myself from thrusting my hands up quickly, one landing in Cedric’s hair and the other pulling him closer to me with a fist full of his robes.

My heart was pounding away like a maniac, but I ignored it because another part of my body seemed to demand a bit more attention. As Cedric and I continued to kiss, we let our bodies press flush against one another and I could feel that that same part of his body was demanding attention.

Feeling his hardening cock against my hip was quite possibly the most satisfying thing I had felt to date. Tasting his lips was a close second. The steam from the bathroom matted my hair to my forehead and made my clothes feel unbearably heavy, so without pulling my lips from Cedric's (as I was still afraid I would wake up from a dream) I yanked my robe off and let it fall to the floor. Cedric, still kissing me, smiled and took his robes off as well.

Now, with less fabric between us, I could feel how warm his body was and I could feel just how much he was enjoying kissing me. The next part was a blur of elbows, jumpers flying off, trousers dropping to the floor, and splashing into the still warm bath.

Our naked bodies were like magnets, unable to separate for long before being pulled back together. The whole time our lips barely left each other’s. Our hands, however, explored the other’s body with great interest. My hand slid down his torso and settled on the spot halfway from his hip to his cock. I wanted so badly to touch him, so badly to fist my hand around his cock and pull him to completion (though at the time I could not have so eloquently worded it that way, since the only cock I had ever held was my own).

Cedric beat me to it. He wrapped his hand around my cock and began to slide it up and down the full length of it. I had never known pleasure could come in the form of someone else’s hand slowly, achingly, stroking me. He eventually sped up, stopping occasionally at the tip of my cock to let his thumb trace circles around the head. By this point, I was brimming with desire. To be quite indelicate, I was going to cum. I was going to cum in the Prefect’s bathroom with Cedric Diggory’s hand wrapped around my cock and his tongue down my throat.

And so, I did. Cum, that is, and as I did, I felt my body tighten and then relax all at once. It was liberating and it was everything I had hoped to get out of my first sexual encounter. Right up until he dressed quickly and said, “So we’re clear, this can't happen again. I, uh, I'm not bent or anything, Potter. Plus, I’ve got Cho and, well, you understand, yeah?”

I did understand.

I understood what a heartbreak felt like.

Cedric had been the one to initiate the kissing, so in my limited scope of relationship knowledge, that had meant something to me. It meant that he was sure of what he wanted but like me, he was also dealing with the fact that sex was, according to the masses, supposed to happen with a naked girl and not a bloke. So he ran out of the Prefect’s bathroom, leaving me still in the bath, still naked, and still able to taste his breath on my lips.

 

**Chapter Three: After Dinner Special**

Sharing a room was something I had never done. Yes, my room prior to Hogwarts was a cupboard, and therefore very small so there was no sharing even if I had wanted to, but I was alone in there (save for the spiders). So at Hogwarts when I realized I was sharing a room with four other people, I panicked.

I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know how to act. At the time, I didn't have any frame of reference. What was the protocol when five people shared the same space? A few ridiculous things ran through my mind like: (1) If someone snored, did I wake them? (2) If I wake up early, how quiet do I need to be? (3) Is it okay to borrow someone's stuff? And the list went on. Most of it was all common sense hoopla that I all ready knew the answers to, but it didn't stop me from throwing all rational thought to the wind, as so often is my way of thinking.

The one roommate issue I never considered was attraction of the sexual variety. Or that one should be much more careful if planning to tug one off in the openness of one’s shared living space (see, daft).

I didn't consider being attracted to men until after what happened with Cedric. Up until Cedric kissed me, I thought what I felt for certain men in my life was just pure admiration of a proper, good man. When in reality, some of it was just attraction. Like when I first met Ron’s brother George (see Chapter 8).

The experience with Cedric was an eye-opener. Finally my blinders were off and I could properly see everything around me. Yes, my experience with Cedric was confusing and it still hurt daily to think about, but it did allow me to begin to understand myself. And no, I didn't tell anyone, at least not until Neville walked in on me wanking off one night when I thought everyone was still at dinner.

Merlin, I can still see the expression on his face when he walked into our room and caught me, hand down my trousers, eyes half-lidded, face a bright shade of pink, with sweat matted to my forehead. It was a face of horror, at first. Like he had seen a troll. He didn't speak, only coughed politely to let me know he was there. I looked up at him, hand still tightly wrapped around my cock and feverishly blinked at him.

Neville stood as still as if he were petrified. I mean, I don't even think I saw the bloke blink. He just kept looking from my groin up to my face and then back down to my groin again. I was still achingly hard, hand still on my cock, and since Neville wasn't saying anything, or moving, I just continued on with it. Neville kept his eyes on me, and I kept my eyes on him.

Each stroke, I was starkly aware that Neville was watching me and in all honesty, that turned me on more. I kept pulling on my cock, harder and faster. I bit my lower lip and that's when I heard Neville whimper. It was nearly inaudible, but I watched him as his chest started heaving and he was seemingly trying to hide it like he was out of breath, but didn't want me to know.

I was close at this point and closed my eyes as I came. My hand covered in the warm, sticky liquid. I let out a sigh of relief and so did Neville. I finally opened my eyes again and saw Neville was still standing there. He was biting his lower lip and his eyes seemed glassy. He kept looking down at my groin.

Finally, I smiled up at him and spoke, “Nev, you all right?” He nodded that yes he was all right, but still he stayed in his spot as if glued there. I got up, without cleaning myself, and walked toward Neville. Now, maybe it was the post-orgasm high, or the fact that not too long ago Cedric had kissed me, but I felt confident enough to kiss Neville.

My lips crashed into his and finally Neville’s feet regained their previous functions and he stumbled backward. He pulled his lips away from mine and stared at me incredulously. His eyes seemed to say ‘Harry Potter, are you daft?” And again, I would like to remind everyone that yes, I am daft. I stood waiting for one of us to speak, but it never happened. Instead, Neville stumbled forward and kissed me hard on the mouth.

It didn't feel the same as when Cedric had kissed me. With Cedric I knew it was going to happen, he made a production out of it. However, I don't think even Neville knew he was going to kiss me until his lips were on mine. They were unsure and tasted like pumpkin juice.

“Sorry,” was all Neville said before turning away from me and rushing out of the room. I was left there, again, with only an apology.

A few very long hours later, Neville returned to the room with Dean, Seamus, and Ron in tow. The poor man only made eye contact with me for two seconds before his eyes involuntarily moved to my groin. No doubt he was remembering our slightly awkward encounter only hours previously. I know that sure is what _I_ was thinking, well that and ‘did Neville say anything to anyone?’.

“Harry, can we talk?” Neville whispered so only I could hear him over Ron yelling something about Viktor Krum and how isn't that great after all—in fact, he wasn't so sure why he worshipped the guy in the first place. Now, we all know that Ron was just jealous because Viktor did what Ron should have; that is, ask Hermione to the Yule Ball.

Neville and I climbed on to my four-poster and pulled the curtains shut. The other blokes were too busy discussing the greater details of Quidditch to even noticed Neville and I had gone missing. Quickly, I cast a Muffliato charm so they couldn't hear what I assumed would be a very…delicate conversation.

“Didn't think of that before?” Neville asked. I was sure he meant what turned me on so badly that I felt the need to wank right there in the middle of the room, no Muffliato charm and seemingly no care in the world of being caught?

My only reply was, “Sorry, didn't think anyone would be back so soon. Dinner, you know?” I fidgeted in the bed. Being this close to a bloke, who I shared a voyeuristic sexual encounter with only hours ago, was turning me on again. Knowing that no one had noticed us leave and couldn’t hear us, thanks to the charm, I was ready to pounce.

Neville seemed very interested in his own hands, as he couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from them. “I'm not sure why I stayed,” Neville said, a rush of crimson flooded his cheeks.

“Not sure why I didn't stop,” I replied.

“I'm not…are you…what I mean…” Neville tried to articulate.

“Well, I dunno,” I started and finished by recounting what happened with Cedric. To my surprise, Neville didn't sound shocked, or disgusted. He just seemed interested. The interest was partly concern for a friend, but the other half (I am sure now) was to satisfy his own curiosity with sex and attraction.

Much like me, Neville was in the beginning stages of his sexual awakening. And much like me, Neville seemed to want to kiss blokes more than he wanted to kiss women.

Throughout our conversation Neville, and I decided that we weren't actually attracted to each other so much as we were attracted to men. Neville was caught off guard at how sexy he had found it to watch another bloke jerk off in front of him. He said, and yes I am quoting him here, “It was like my mind finally caught up with my body and all of a sudden I was like ‘huh... guess I'm gay.’” And I decided that, like Neville in that moment when our eyes locked and my hand was still wrapped around my cock, I was also probably a little gay (little meaning a lot, of course).

 

 


	5. Draco Has an Epiphany and Pansy Interviews Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is curious is Harry's book is all true and enlists Pansy to find out. Because if it is true...then Draco will have to admit what he has known all along.

_**Location: The Three Broomsticks, Diagon Alley** _  
_**Happy Hour with Blaise and Pansy** _  
_**One Day After Getting Potter’s Book** _

“Have you read this?” Draco held up Potter’s book as he planted his arse into the booth across from Blaise and Pansy.

“Hello to you too, Draco, dear,” Pansy drawled, fixing a cloth napkin over her lap before taking a dainty sip of her martini. Her long fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

“Yes, fine. Hello, hello,” Draco nodded at his mates and continued without waiting for a response, “I’ve just finished most of the book. Neville? Really? Blaise, did you know about that?”

“Well, yeah. Neville and I share everything,” Blaise admitted rather guiltily, “Should I have told you?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Draco dead panned, “Yes, obviously, yes. We only bloody well talked about the both of them all the time back in school and then you started to date Neville. I would have thought it might come up!”

“Draco, darling, do calm down. You’re ears are turning red,” Pansy interjected, “Blaise and his little Gryffindor are allowed a bit of privacy you know.”

“He’s not very little, if you catch my drift,” Blaise teased and nudged at Pansy who was giggling now. Both of their faces were a soft shade of pink.

Draco was annoyed at the fact that his friends didn't seem to be taking this book thing seriously. Draco had only just started the book last night to find that there were some things that Potter describes that felt a little too familiar. “Oh, the entire bar catches your drift, you prat. Why didn't you at least warn me before I started reading?”

“Slipped my mind?” Blaise said rather unconvincingly before taking a giant gulp of his butterbeer. Draco watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed his drink. Draco felt a lurch in his stomach remembering how often his lips had pressed soft kisses in that exact spot. Hogwarts seemed like a lifetime ago but now, with Potter’s book coming out, it was right back in the forefront of Draco’s mind.

“Before this slips my mind,” Pansy pipped up, her dark hair falling in her face as she adjusted herself in the booth, “I have an interview with Potter tomorrow.”

“You do?” Draco asked, which was not necessary since he was sure Pansy wouldn't lie about something so important. She had been the ear most often that heard Draco’s incessant rants about Potter during school. She had heard ‘Potter thinks he's so wonderful’ and ‘Why does he have to be so bloody attractive’ enough times and in so many different variations that he was positive she wouldn't lie about anything involving Potter.

Pansy pushed her loose hair behind her ear and spoke, “Meeting at some muggle café that he claims has the best espresso in London…”

“The Second Cup?” Draco asked, very familiar with the shop, as he went there every morning before work to get his caffeine fix and every afternoon to wash down the bad taste of the day with an espresso and biscotti.

“Yeah, you know it?” Pansy asked.

“Yes. Potter goes there?” Draco asked, still shocked that he had never run into Potter there before. Draco practically knew all the baristas and even knew the owner, which shows how often he was in there. How had he managed to miss Potter there every time?

“Well, yeah. I suppose. At least, that's where he wanted to meet. Want to tag along?” Pansy suggested and Blaise nodded along aggressively, clearly thinking it a good idea for Draco to pop up unannounced at Pansy’s interview.

“I should think not,” Draco snapped.

“Fine, but if you think of anything you want me to ask him, let me know,” Pansy said.

“Actually, can you ask him about L.B and the kiss on the astronomy tower? Ask if that really happened and if he was really stood up. Like none of his book is made up, right?” Draco said all in one breath, hoping he didn't seem too eager. His mates knew about his longtime obsession with Potter, but not necessarily all the details. And it seemed neither did Draco.

“Of course, I'll ask,” Pansy eyed Draco suspiciously, but didn't pry further. Draco was satisfied enough with that.

                                                                                      ***

 

_Harry Potter the Boy Who Lives to Shock Us  
By Pansy Parkinson_

As I sit in a very…ordinary looking Muggle café, waiting for the ever-famous, Harry Potter, I can't help but re-read some of my favorite chapters from his debut novel, Harry Potter and the Sexual Awakening.

I don't want to spoil anything for those of you crazy enough to read my interview with him before finishing the novel, but I will say that the chapter about Neville Longbottom always gets me a bit hot. Who knew those Gryffindor boys were so exciting? Certainly not I.

Finally, after my third espresso, Harry shows up wearing a white t-shirt, faded black jeans and motorcycle boots. It is quite the look. Very dashing, very rebel without a cause. Very, very I'm-sexy-without-even-trying. He smiles cordially at me and sits down across from me, coffee cup in hand.

“So, if it isn't the very famous Chosen One, miss the limelight that much?” I quip.

“Well, they promised me if I came out, I’d get an interview with you, so how could I pass that up?” He retorts back at me with an upturned smile. I don't remember him being this witty when we attended Hogwarts together. I also don't remember him having those sculpted biceps either. I do, however, remember him being an annoying prat. Always the pride of the school. Always Mr. Do-Right. Which I guess is kind of endearing…kind of.

“Love the book,” I add. He looks like he is blushing, so I decide to go for it. “Naughty content. Ever feel like that's all people will be able to see when they look at you now?”

Harry looks over his shoulder and tenses up at my question. His emerald eyes are fixed on the lid of his coffee cup. “Of course, yeah. That was a risk I had to be willing to take.”

“And, how has it been so far? Risk worth the reward and all that?” Harry laughs and the lines around his eyes scrunch up. It is actually very attractive and I find myself sad that I'm not a bloke because I think I’d very much like to date him. Not that he has eyes for anyone other than the mystery man, L.B.

“Well, so far so good. ‘Course Molly Weasley can't look me in the eye after the chapter about me and George,” Harry goes red in the face again. For someone who wrote the raunchiest, sexiest tell-all the wizarding world has ever seen, he sure does blush often.

“I’d expect not. That was a very…detailed chapter.”

A laugh escapes Harry supple lips, “Well, I did warn everyone at the beginning to read at their own risk.” And that he did, a few times actually. I think there are about three disclaimers in total, so really Molly knew what she was getting herself into, as did the rest of the wizarding world. Not that all the disclaimers in the world could have kept my prying eyes from reading what felt like a heart-felt confessional.

“That you did. So what was the hardest thing about writing this memoir-esque novel?”

“Telling the truth without cutting out the bits that made me look bad.”

“Like?”

“Like the whole kissing Cho thing. Wasn't exactly my best moment,” Harry lowers his head, and traces circles on the wooden table with his index finger. If I wasn't sitting across from him when he said that, I might not have believe he was sincere. But seeing the look on his face, I am sure he feels tremendous guilt over that situation.

“Before I get into the more difficult questions, many people want to know; is the entire thing truthful? No made up bits?”

“What do you mean? Do you mean to ask if I've made any of it up?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“No, of course I haven't. Everything in there is the truth.”

There it is, folks. Potter promises his book is entirely truthful. And now for the hard questions, the question every witch and wizard wants the answer to, “Any chance I can get you to tell me who L.B is?”

“Nope. My lips are sealed.” Harry smirked at me. He actually smirked. That prat. He knows how intriguing the mystery man angle is and he is milking it for all it is worth. Surely someone, maybe one of my readers, can figure it out for us. Because let's face it, we are all dying to know who the love of Harry Potter’s life is and why he was such a prat in school.

“If L.B read your book, would he know it was him?”

“Uh, yeah probably. I tried my best to omit the more telling details without removing the importance of my feelings for him.”

“Do you still have feelings for L.B.?”

“Uh, that's a tough question to answer.”

“Why?”

“I guess, yes, I do. I never got closure with him, so there will always be a little bit of something there.” Harry is again, staring at his coffee cup like it is the most interesting game of Quidditch he had ever watched.

“So, the letter at the end? Has it worked yet?”

Dejected looking, he answers the question with a quick sigh, “No, well…not the right man at least. I’ve had a few people pop in to claim they are L.B. A few even wrote into the Prophet claiming they were the one.”

“Frustrating is it?”

“A bit, but if L.B comes ‘round, it will all be well worth it.”

“Mind if I ask, what's so special about this person?”

“He sees me, yeah. Like sees past all the ‘Chosen One’ stuff. He treated me like a real person. That was rare for me growing up. Plus, he was, and still is, unbelievably fit.”

And there you have it folks. The Chosen One seems to still be pining away of the man who has perfect cheek bones, a wonderful arse, and magnificent hair. And all I can say to that is, aren't we all pining away for someone like that? I know I sure as Merlin am.


	6. With the Breathings of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters of Harry's book.

**Chapter Four: Dear Diary**

I kept a journal. Yes, laugh now. Okay, all done? Right, as I was saying, I kept a journal while I was at Hogwarts because even though Neville and I had each other to confide in, there were still things I didn't want to say aloud. Whether from shame or from fear of them being real as soon as I uttered the words, who knows? I spent an equal amount of my time running from Voldemort and denying I had any feelings for L.B.

I used vanishing ink to avoid any prying eyes (Ron’s). My journal functioned much like the Marauder’s Map in that only I could access the materials. Yes, I figured it out on my own. Yes, it was difficult. And yes, in the biographies they make me seem like I only ever got lucky when it came to magic, but I am actually quite skilled.

So instead of summarizing my journal and thusly my long-term crush, I will instead include a few key entries that will give some…insight into my feelings about liking a certain someone.

  
_23 Dec 1994_

_L.B. [I have to use this instead of their name because of reasons] is such an unbearable twat. I mean honestly, how can anyone find him attractive? Bollocks. I mean he has a sort of devilish charm I suppose. And nice hair. And cheekbones. And arse. Shit, I guess I find him attractive. Bloody hell, of course I would have to find him attractive. Not bad enough being bent, now I have to fancy him of all people._

_25 December 1994_

_Yule Ball was the worst. I sulked the whole time. Watched L.B have a good time. Stupid twat. Dancing and pretending like I don't exist. With his stupid hair and delicate looking hands. Probably uses some posh lotion. Merlin, I am pathetic._

_21 March 1995_

_Sirius says it's totally normal to like blokes. I only told him because Neville said he was too busy to chat and I needed to get it off my chest and actually have someone respond this time. I guess Sirius is a little gay, too._

_23 March 1995_

_Sirius is definitely gay. He just admitted that he and Professor Lupin dated in school. I owe Hermione a few sickles. She is too perceptive for her own good._

_  
14 May 1995_

_In [removed class because then you all could work it out, I'm onto you guys] L.B keeps looking at me. Like he is always staring at me. I can feel his eyes on my back. Thank Merlin it’s almost summer and thank Merlin I didn't let him see me looking at him. That would have been bloody obvious, wouldn't it?_

_20 September 1996_

_L.B is too attractive. I've decided. It’s just not humanly possible._

_5 October 1996_

_Hermione and Ron say I'm obsessing. Fine. I am maybe obsessing, but how can I not obsess when it is so easy to obsess over L.B. It’s not fair that he is so attractive. He has to know he is attractive, right? Sexy people always seem to know they are sexy and charming. Stupid prat. Being all stupid and sexy in front of me. How dare he? IN MY PRESENCE HE DARES TO LICK HIS LIPS AND ARCH THAT DAMN EYEBROW?_

_  
23 December 1996_

_I bet L.B is miserable for Christmas this year. Serves him right. Always making my life more difficult by being so insufferable AND so attractive. How can I properly hate him if he keeps making my cock hard just by saying my damn name??_

_24 December 1996_

_I owled him. I'm a dunce. Why did I do that? The note just said, “You’re a twat. An attractive, annoying twat. Happy Christmas.” I sent it off anonymously, so he won't know it's me, but honestly what was I thinking? If he figures it out, I'm screwed._

_16 November 1997_

_Hermione is taking a turn with the locket, so I finally have a clear moment to think and all I can think of is L.B. What is wrong with me? I should hate him by now, shouldn't I? After all this time, I shouldn't still want to kiss him. Not after what he did._

And it goes on like that for days on end. Years, actually. L.B was my ultimate crush. I wanted him so badly. Wanting him felt unlike anything I had ever felt, and so most often I ignored it. I was scared of it. So like any sane, rash person, I started to force myself to have other crushes. Other less, L.B related crushes.

 

**Chapter Five: Girls, Girls, Guys**

Like most mostly gay blokes who are in severe denial about being mostly gay, I convinced myself to like women. Now, two lovely women stick out in particular and if I hadn't been so obsessed with L.B, things might have turned out different. As it turns out, trying to snog the person who you don't actually want to snog can result in some pretty terrible snogging (sorry ladies).

Re-enter the lovely Cho Chang. We shared a brief, wet kiss one ill-timed night in the Room of Requirement after a Dumbledore’s Army meeting. Yeah, classy of me, right? I had let her now-dead ex-boyfriend give me a hand job in the Prefect’s bath and then a year later, I kissed her under the mistletoe after she had been crying over missing said ex-boyfriend.

I guess I figured she was my first crush, or at least the first crush I had told people about, so it seemed as good a person as any to try to get involved with (spoiler alert: it was not).

The kiss itself was awkward and my heart wasn't really in it. Each second of the kiss was like a stark reminder that Cedric was dead and that I was kissing someone he loved. I felt dirty and guilty and on top of all that, I was thinking about kissing Cedric when for all intents and purposes, I should have been thinking about kissing Cho. To be fair, though, she was thinking of Cedric the whole time too and we bonded over it a few years later.

The only girl that I ever came close to being really into was Ginny Weasley. She was (and still is) brave, kind, absolutely gorgeous, and a bit scary, as she’d hex you faster than you could say butterbeer.

Around sixth year, my obsession with L.B was at an all-time high and I was falling apart at the seams. Ron, who was still a dunce, was all hormones. It’s just he directed them at the wrong person. But his budding need for a snog session every other hour made him curious as to why I didn't seem equally invested in snogging some fit girl in the castle stairwell.

So, I started dropping hints that I might have a crush on Ginny. Of course, Ron didn't notice straight away as his face seemed to be glued to Lavender’s with a ridiculously strong sticking charm, but Hermione did. In the end, we bonded over our shared love of red-headed Weasleys and their obliviousness to our feelings for them.

Now, of course I love Ginny and I always will, but she just isn't my type…physically. Sort of missing that one appendage that I seem so fond of. Certain...male genitalia. So when she caught wind of my crush, she ruthlessly called me out.

I'll never forget it. She barged into the Gryffindor common room, pulled me up by the sleeve of my robes, dragged me out of the portrait into an empty corridor and planted a very firm kiss on my lips. After a few seconds of her pressing her lips into mine, she pulled back and very matter-of-factly stated, “Nope, nothing for me. What about you?” Seems I was missing a certain piece of anatomy that Ginny preferred.

When I didn't answer and only stood there blinking back my confusion at the situation, Ginny spoke again, “Heard you liked me. Which was a shock seeing as I was pretty sure you liked men. So thought I would test the waters myself.”

“And you felt nothing?” I asked incredulously. Certainly, I had to be a better kisser than that. I wasn't sure if I was more offended or relieved. On the one hand, I didn't have to pretend around Ginny anymore, but on the other hand, my ego was hurting. Also, how in Merlin’s name had she figured it out? Probably the George thing.

Ginny laughed at me and yes, it was a bit embarrassing. But her eyes were alight and her laughter wasn't at all mean, it was playful. “Let’s date, yeah?” And when she said those words I was sure I had imagined all of our conversation up to that point.

“Sorry, but did you just say we should date?”

“Yeah, cover for each other?”

“Cover what?”

“The fact that you clearly want shag L.B into next week. Hey, I'm not as oblivious as the rest of my family members,” Ginny winked at me and continued “and the fact that I am slightly, very much a lesbian.”

“Oh,” I choked out, “Of course. But I don't want to shag L.B. Just so we’re clear.”

“Sure, and I don't think Pansy Parkinson has a nice arse. It’s settled then,” Ginny smirked, “lover.”

It was exhausting to pretend that L.B didn't exist. Especially when he decided to start making fun of me for liking Ginny, which of course I didn't. But at least everyone else had stopped asking me why I wasn't dating anyone. As if saving their their collective arse from Voldemort wasn't enough of an excuse for a shabby love life. 

 

**Chapter Six: Sitting in a Tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G...L.B.**

There wasn't actually a tree, or kissing. That's just a muggle song kids sing to embarrass fellow kids whenever they have a crush on someone. And boy oh boy did I have a crush.

The first time I saw L.B naked was on accident. It was third year after a Quidditch match. Everyone had left the locker room, and so I thought it was safe to rub one out in the showers. The communal showers. I was very fond of my own penis at thirteen, so I often spent any alone time I had penis-in-hand.

I’ll admit it was a tad bit exposed (you’ll notice I often pleasure myself in very open areas, kind of turns me on knowing I could get caught), but the hot water on my back felt so good, and I had just discovered how good it felt to touch myself, and we had won the match, so I was in good spirits.

So, I let the shower steam up. The water was scalding hot, but I didn't care because I was hard and alone. I had the other hand on the title wall in front of me to keep myself from falling and the other stroked my cock clumsily.

I let out a few quiet moans, as it felt good and since I was alone, I figured why not give myself a little verbal encouragement? But then I heard someone drop something in the shower behind me. It clanked on the tile floor and startled me. I turned slowly and through the steam, I could see him. L.B was standing there, soap in hand, completely stark naked.

His body was toned. Skinny, but each muscle seemed deliberate and like he had worked for them as opposed to being muscular just because one is skinny. His shoulders were broad and his torso faded into a very appealing v-shape. His hair lay wet on his forehead, a disheveled version of his normal hairdo, and his eyes were wide open from the shock of not being alone.

I let my eyes glide down his body from the soft, coy corners of his lips, down to the fair happy trail of hair that led down his torso to his cock. His cock. It was hard, just like mine. At first, I pretended not to look, but curiosity got the best of me and I let myself examine it.

There was a slight curve to his cock that mine didn't have and a pinker tip. There were veins that seemed to be throbbing with anticipation and it excited me in a way I wouldn't recognize as being turned on until the following year.

L.B didn't say a word. He just looked at me in the same curious way I was looking at him. I could feel his eyes on my cock. I liked it. I liked that he was looking at me. I liked that he couldn't seem to look away.

Finally, he pulled his gaze up from my groin to my eyes and just looked at me. His eyes were somber, like they knew we would never be allowed to see each other like this again. Like they somehow sensed this moment was passing too quickly and we wouldn't get another one. And his eyes seemed to know me. They watched me as they always had since the day we met during our first year at Hogwarts.

It was one of the only times L.B looked at me honestly and without any control. Outside of the showers he had a reputation. Outside of the showers, he had to look at me a certain way and this wasn't it.

The second time I saw L.B naked was on accidentally on purpose.

Fifth year was unbelievably hard for me. I was grieving the death of Cedric. I was feeling left out of things when the Order kept me in the dark, yet again, and the hearing where Umbridge and the likes attempted to get me thrown from school because I didn't let a dementor suck the life from my arsehole of a cousin.

I felt as if I were going insane. To numb the grief and guilt I felt, I took to stealing Sirius’ Firewhiskey stash when the Order was too busy keeping me out of the loop. I even snuck a great deal of it with me to school. But once school started back up, I felt temporarily better. The familiarity of it all, especially the familiar dynamic I had with L.B. That is to say, pretending we had never seen each other naked. And at least on my end, pretending that I didn't want to desperately see him naked again.

That's the thing about desperation; it hits you like a brick wall and when it does, all rational thought goes out the window. So, one night, I think it was a Friday, when most of Hogwarts was at dinner, I got completely and totally pissed in the Gryffindor common room because earlier L.B called me a tosser and for some odd reason it turned me on. I hated that it turned me on, I hated being attracted to him, I hated that of course I would like blokes, and of course, I’d have fallen for him; so I wanted to forget and Firewhiskey is so good for forgetting.

Firewhiskey is strong, in case you didn't realize.

After what must have been most of the bottle, I staggered out into the corridors, bottle in hand and somehow made my way all the way to the Shrieking Shack without being noticed. Just kidding, I had on my invisibility cloak. That's why I wasn't noticed. Otherwise, I would have been stopped a million times on my way.

Finally, I arrived at the Shrieking Shack (held some sentimental value as I first met Sirius there, so I went there to think often) and I heard voices. Naturally, even in my drunken state, I was suspicious. So, I snooped. Still covered my my cloak, I peered into the window. Nothing. I braved opening the door slowly. It creaked a bit, but not in a noticeable manner, more in a wind-blowing-through-the-wood manner. I still heard the voices and they’re a bit muffled, but I could tell they were both male.

I snuck up the steps, but not until I’d cast a Muffliato charm on myself. I reached the bedroom and saw through the cracked open door two bodies; naked.

One of them was L.B. My heart stopped, my palms started to sweat, my eyes widened, and my cock was instantly hard, the traitorous bastard.

His back was facing me and I watched his muscles tightened as he arched his back upward in pleasure. The other man, let's call him S.Z, was busy sucking at L.B’s neck and had one hand firmly planted on the peach-shaped arse of L.B. The other hand wrapped around L.B’s cock.

His body was even more toned than I had remembered. Each muscle deliberate, his skin seemingly soft. The slight curve of his hips. It was enough to send me into a frenzy, but what sent me over the edge was the staccato huffing of L.B as he was being stroked to completion. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving, his mouth hung open in a soft O shape. And finally when he released himself all over S.Z’s stomach, he whispered, “Fuck yes, Potter.”

Of course, my heart leapt into my throat and I was sure he had somehow seen me through the cloak, but the other man with him simply laughed and spoke, “Never tire of that fantasy, eh?” To which, L.B replied, “Can't. He’s too fit. If I can't actually shag him, at least I can pretend.” His companion laughed at him and sat up before saying one last thing, “Well, L.B, you can pretend to shag Potter as long as you don't mind me pretending to shag Longbottom.”


	7. Draco Admits Something to Pansy and Runs into Potter...Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Pansy discuss Draco's obsession with the book and why it is getting under his skin so much. He finally admits what he has known since he picked up the book. 
> 
> Then we see a review from Rita Skeeter, the reason for the book even being necessary. 
> 
> After, Draco goes to a Ministry function and runs into a very attractive Harry Potter.

_**Location: Draco’s flat** _   
_**Afternoon, Pansy Popped Over for Tea** _   
_**Two Days After Getting Potter’s Book** _

“And another thing…” Draco started to rant about Potter’s book again while refilling Pansy’s tea cup, “Cedric? I mean honestly. That can't have happened.”

Pulling her tea cup up to her lips, Pansy sighed and said, “You're fixating, Draco,” before taking a small sip of her tea.

“Pfft, fixating. Me? Ha, laughable,” Draco said adding much too much sugar to his own tea because he was distracted. The action caught Pansy’s attention and she watched him curiously.

“You sure everything's all right? Maybe Dean can give this spot light to someone…less invested in this book?”

“Invested? I'm not…what makes you…I'm not invested in this. I'm just annoyed that Potter went on pretending at school that he wasn't in love with the L.B fellow,” Draco spat out at Pansy.

He was frustrated with Potter’s book because he was really starting to freak out. L.B was so clearly a pseudonym for Draco. Or so, it was seeming the more Draco thought about it. Potter wasn't even being creative. Shite. L.B. It had to stand for Lucius Black, Draco's middle name and his mother’s maiden name. It had to. At least if it didn't, then someone else at Hogwarts was sharing all the same exact awkward sexual encounters with Potter.

That's to say, if it wasn't a pseudonym for Draco, then well, Draco was going to feel ridiculously silly for thinking that the man Potter claims to have longed for all these years was him.

If by some miracle Potter did mean Draco, that meant that Draco still had a shot. It meant that Potter wanted him. It mean that Draco hadn’t been mad to think they had this spark between them despite what Blaise said, which was that Draco saw something there only because he so deeply wanted there to be something.

Adjusting himself in his seat and taking a much too sweet sip of his tea, Draco tried to think of a less obsessive way to broach the subject, “I just think he took some creative liberties is all.”

Pansy took a dainty sip of her tea, humming at the not too overly sweet taste of it, “And why is that?”

“Some of it has to be…” Draco threw his hands up in frustration, “Some of it has to be made up. I'm sure of it.”

Pansy furrowed her thick, dark eyebrows and tilted her head which reminded Draco of when a puppy hears something suspicious, “Why? Draco what aren't you telling me?”

“Well, remember how I asked you to ask about the astronomy tower chapter? Whether it really happened or not?”

“Yes?”

Draco paused for a second and considered not telling Pansy, but really she was one of his best mates and he had to tell someone or else he was likely to explode, “Well, I don't remember it happening.”

Very confused and no longer amused by the conversation, Pansy asked, “And why would you?”

“Because I am very, very almost positive,” Draco paused, still not sure he wanted to say it out loud, “that L.B is me. That I'm…I’m the L.B Potter refers to in his book.”

Mid-sip, Pansy’s eyes went wide and she sat up straight in her chair, “Oh, Merlin’s ghost, of course. I knew that Shrieking Shack stuff sounded familiar.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“And the detention?”

“Also me.”

“And the…” Pansy started, but Draco cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“All me. So, that means if the tower thing did happen, and I don't remember it because I was drunk…”

“That means that he thinks….” Pansy stopped as the understanding of what happened between Potter and Draco seemed to dawn on her, “Oh, Merlin.”

“Exactly, which might explain his behavior at the club.”

“Does Blaise know?”

“Yes, pretty sure. He would have had to by now. Seeing as he's technically in the book as well. Just like him to not say anything to me.”

Ignoring Draco’s concern with Blaise, Pansy asked rather bluntly, “So, why haven't you talked to Potter yet?”

Draco stood up and decided it was high time he cleaned up their tea and biscuits. He even grabbed Pansy’s tea cup from her hand and walked it into his kitchen. From the kitchen he called to Pansy, “I don't know. I don't think I will.”

“Why the hell not?” Pansy’s voice was close and Draco realized she followed him in from the living room. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips like an annoyed mother.

“I'm just…I'm scared, Pans.”

Pansy’s voice was softer after Draco’s confession, “Of what?”

“Not living up to this fantasy he's built up in his mind about us. What if the reality of having me isn't as interesting as the idea of having me?”

Pansy moved in close to Draco, who was very close to tears, and wrapped her arms around his middle. She whispered into his ear, “Draco, please…”

Comfortable in Pansy’s embrace, Draco felt himself calming down. At least enough to finish his thought without crying, “No, seriously, Pans. We barely got along in school. Yes, I was a prat to him, which didn't help, but sometimes I just think we are so undeniably different that a real relationship between us couldn't work.”

“But Draco, if he's been pining for you for as long as this book implies, that would mean he thinks you two would work. Why else would he even mention you in the book, if not to show you his side of things?”

“The fame?”

“Oh, please, you and I both know Potter doesn't do anything for the fame of it. He does what his bleeding Gryffindor heart tells him is the right thing to do.”

“Yes, but if you're wrong. If we try this and it doesn't work. I don't think I could ever recover from the heartbreak of it.”

“That's a risk you have to be willing to take,” Pansy said and pecked Draco on the cheek before making her exit from the kitchen.

                                                                                         ***

_The Boy Who Lived in the Closet, Finally Emerges; Book Review  
By Rita Skeeter_

By now you’ve all read my quite endearing account of Harry Potter, the boy we all know and love, emerging from a Muggle gay bar last month. No longer can he hide his lifestyle from us here at the Prophet and no longer does it seem like he wants to hide it.

With his devilish new novel, Potter manages to get all of our collective panties in a bunch. His blunt storytelling coupled with the intimate nature of the book, make it all the more easy to fall in love with our leading man. As if we weren't all ready?

His use of witty asides gives a lightness to his otherwise intense novel. Who knew shamelessly reading about someone’s sex life could be so heartwarming? I don't know about all of you, but I sure do wish that pesky L.B would reveal himself so we can see the love story to end all love stories unfold.

As many of you may remember, I had the chance to interview Harry many times over the years and in between his eyes glistening with the memories of his deceased parents and the scandals that seemed to emerge each new year about You-Know-Who being back, it was hard to forget about Harry Potter.

Now, it is going to be nearly impossible.

Our grandchildren’s grandchildren will be reading this book about the man who saved us all and how even the Saviour needs a good shag every now and then. So, if you are looking for a novel that will make you laugh, make you cry, and make you fan yourself all at the same time, then this is the novel for you.

And of course, he has me to thank because if I hadn't outed him, this novel might not have happened. You’re welcome, Harry.

                                                                                     ***

**_Location: Ministry of Magic Ballroom  
Covering an Award Ceremony for The Bent Wand, Potter is Keynote Speaker  
Three Days After Getting Potter’s Book_ **

Dateless and quite fine with it, Draco entered the Ministry’s ballroom which was bewitched to look like the night sky outside. It starkly reminded Draco of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. His mind wandered to all those nights at Hogwarts that he spent wishing he was good enough for Potter, all the while knowing he never could be good enough for anyone.

The crowd was decent and a few very familiar faces littered the crowd. Of course, Potter’s mates were all standing in a circle around him; Weasley (plural; Ron and Ginny) and Granger laughing at something Potter said, Lovegood staring dreamily at Potter, or staring dreamily as she always did, and finally Neville with his arm around Blaise who was now trying to wave Draco over.   
Draco shook his head to say no, thank you and instead made his way to the drinks table. Getting through this evening was going to take all the Firewhiskey he could manage to swallow. At the drinks table, he sensed someone standing behind him, so with a quick gulp of his Firewhiskey, Draco turned around.

It was Blaise, who was dressed in a very smart looking dress robe clad with Slytherin green accent marks, “Why won't you come over?”

“I'm on the clock. No socializing for me.”

“On the clock, my arse. You just want to avoid Potter…who is now walking over towards us. Act natural.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Draco gulped down another Firewhiskey in preparation for what was sure to be as awkward a conversation as ever. Now that Draco had fully finished the book and knew that none of it was made up, he was sure he was L.B. Talking to Potter held a whole new meaning now. Especially after that blasted epilogue.

“Blaise, Neville is asking for you. Wants to dance,” Potter laughs after the word dance and Blaise’s face lights up at the mention of Neville’s name, which Draco finds both annoying and sweet.

Blaise nodded at Draco semi-apologetically and then left him there with Potter, who was now reaching down for a Firewhiskey. Draco watched the man’s long, thick fingers wrap around the glass and instantly his head was swimming from the back-to-back shots he just downed.

“No date?” Potter asked nonchalantly, pulling the glass up to his mouth. Draco watched his lips curl around the glasses edge and whimpered a bit to himself.

“No, on the clock actually. Here for the magazine. Can't have distractions. So, I'd better be…”

“Off? Yeah, me too. Speech to give, but I guess you knew that all ready.”

“Right, I did. Good luck, then.”

“Thanks,” Potter said and started to walk away. Draco felt his body relax, each muscle seemingly sighing with relief. But then Harry turned around and asked, “Save a dance for me?”

“Sorry?”

“A dance. Just the one. Will you?”

“One dance,” Draco felt himself saying before he could properly think about the consequences to that answer. Each time he was around Potter, all sense went out the window. It's what got him in trouble so often at Hogwarts.

With Potter gone, Draco felt safe approaching Blaise who was surrounded by Gryffindors. “Blaise, can I have a word?” Draco started, hoping he wouldn't be roped into whatever ludicrous conversations Granger and the Weasleys were having.

“Malfoy?” Ron asked, rosey-cheeked, “Is that you? Finally come to join us?”

“Oh, no just have a work-related question for Blaise,” Draco said. He looked at Blaise hoping that his long-time mate wouldn't force him to have any further part in this conversation, but Blaise only shrugged at him and then added a quick ‘sorry, you're on you own, mate’ smile.

“You're no fun,” Ron said and slurped back his drink. “Malfoy is no fun, eh, Gin? What’s Harry even…”

“RONALD,” Hermione snapped quickly, cutting off the end of what Ron was about to say. Then in a much nicer voice, pleaded with him, “Slow down or you'll be totally wasted before Harry even speaks.”

“Yeah, Ronald, do behave,” Ginny added mockingly, to which Ron replied with a very dignified raspberry noise. It was all a bit much for Draco, who again eyed Blaise pleadingly, hoping he didn't have to ask again.

“Tell Nev that I'll be right back?” Blaise politely asked Hermione who nodded at him with a smile. Sometimes Draco forgot how often Blaise saw these people. He was very much a part of their group. Very cordial with the lot of them. Draco supposed dating a Gryffindor will do that to a bloke.

Once Draco was sure they had moved far enough out of earshot that no one could overhear, Draco spoke, “Potter’s asked me to dance with him.”

“What?” Blaise asked.

“Dance. Me. Potter. Dancing.”

“Wonderful.”

Draco looked over his shoulder at the group they had just left and it didn't seem like anyone was paying any mind to the pair, so he continued, “No, I can't. I need to get out of it somehow.”

“Why? All you ever wanted was his attention and now you’ve got it? What's the problem?”

Draco decided that now was as good a time as any to recount to his best mate his most recent run in with Potter at a club and the embarrassment of rejection that followed. Once Draco finished, he looked around to make sure no one else heard. “So, you see? It’s just a bit weird, isn't it? Also, I don't even remember kissing him back in school. I must have been too drunk.”

“Wait a bloody minute…are you telling me you’re L.B?” Blaise said jokingly.

“Is this funny to you?”

“A bit, yeah. Nev and I knew you were L.B the second we picked up the book, not to mention our little sexcapade that Potter details so vividly. I mean by that point it was completely obvious.”

“I, well, I just didn't want to believe it could be me, especially since the kissing in the tower bit wasn't something I remember, but if it's all true that means it was me. So, you’re right. It all fits.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Draco had no idea what he was going to do about it to be completely frank. He had no idea what he should do about, let alone what he wanted to do; so he opted for a slight change of subject, “You read the letter at the end right?”

“Yeah, heartbreakingly vulnerable, if you ask me.”

“I just don't know if I want to acknowledge it, yet. But he has to know I would figure it out, right?”

“Seems like, yeah he might have counted on that.”

“Oh, you're no help.”

“Draco, calm down. Dance with him. See how it feels. Then decide?”

“Fine, fine. But when this all goes tits up, I blame you.”

Potter’s speech began and everyone’s attention was on him, as it always seemed to be. Draco scoffed at the thought of perfect Potter, always at the center of it. _Stupid git, always so damn likable. It was unfair really. How was anyone supposed to hate him properly when he smiled like that?_

“…and I would like to thank everyone here for attending and for caring so deeply about our Aurors. Now please join me in welcoming our Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Potter finished and clapped his hands along with the rest of the crowd as the Minister walked on stage. He politely shook Potter’s hand and then the man climbed off the stage and made his way back into the crowd.

Draco’s heart was pounding because he saw that Potter walked right past his friends and was headed straight for him. Palms sweaty; check. Heart beating in his throat; check. Face a nice shade of pink; check, check. It was all Draco could do to not turn around and run out of the ballroom.

Finally, Potter stood in front of him and smiled, “How'd I do? Professionally speaking, of course?”

“Really well. Wonderful, even.”

“Wonderful? Can I expect to see those exact words in your article?”

“Something to the effect, yes.”

“Wonderful,” Potter joked, “So, that dance?”

“Right, yes. Shall we?” Draco attempted a confident smile, but felt like a fraud because his entire body was shaking. He let Potter take his hand and guide him out to the dance floor. The music was loud and the dance floor was crowded. A few people shot sideways glances at the pair of them, but Potter didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he was ignoring it.

Potter positioned himself as the lead of the dance, so Draco assumed the position of the follower. It was a waltz and Draco was actually fond of the song playing, so he tried to summon a smile. Once Potter pulled him in close, Draco was sure he would faint. He was overwhelmed with so many emotions. All attempting to be felt, no _demanding_ to be felt, at the same time.

Among those competing emotions was a tugging at his gut that seemed to say ‘we’ve been here before, get out while you still can’ and, tied with that for first place, was ‘this feels so right.’ Draco wasn't sure which emotion was winning out quite yet, so he let himself be waltzed across the dance floor much more elegantly than he would have expected from Potter, who never seemed to be one of anything so posh as learning the waltz.

“Where did you learn…” Draco started, but his voice caught in his throat. It seemed nervous was currently the emotion winning out.

“About a year back. Hermione complained that Ron was uncoordinated, so she never got to dance at these functions. I learned for her.”

“Oh,” was all Draco managed to say. The pair stayed quiet for the rest of the song, letting their bodies occasionally sway together and then quickly apart. Each time, Potter looked at him and smiled. His lips curled up at the corners and his eyes scrunched up under his glasses. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how Potter could manage to dance with him and not be tempted to bring up his novel.

If Draco had written a love letter confessional book like the one Potter had, Draco would have been dying to know if Potter had figured it all out yet. He wouldn't be patient enough to see if Potter would come ‘round.

But much to Draco’s’ surprise, Potter didn't seem worried if Draco had worked it out yet. On the contrary, Potter seemed perfectly content with dancing. So, Draco managed to calm down a bit and attempt to enjoy being in Potter’s arms while he still could. 


	8. Both a Mask and an Unveiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters of Harry's book.

**Chapter Seven: Roommates with Benifits**

Not all my time at Hogwarts was spent pining away for L.B and wanking in very public spaces. No, a very big part of my sexual awakening was Neville Longbottom.

So many of our peers overlooked him. So many of our peers mocked him. But what so many of our peers didn't see was that Neville was stronger than almost all of us combined and quite fit, I might add.

He and I weren't exactly friends the first few years at school. We weren't exactly not friends either. It wasn't until we bonded over our sexual preferences that our friendship blossomed into something stronger.

Turns out Neville and I had much more in common than our tragic pasts. We both felt confused and scared about liking men. We both were scared to tell our friends for fear of being ostracized. We both had a massive hard-on for one of the elder Weasleys (George). And we both wanted to explore our sexuality.

So we did. With each other. Often.

Blow jobs, hand jobs, snogging in empty classrooms; you name it we did it. With one big exception. We never made it to the…er, finish line, if you will.

By the time Cedric and I had, whatever it was that we had, my hormones were in full swing and since I now knew what it felt like to push my naked body against someone, I desired it constantly. It was a release from my everyday stressors. It was something that I could do to distract myself. But it was also a way to feel close to someone in a way I had never felt close to another person.

Growing up, as you may have gathered, I didn't exactly live in a loving environment. I was never hugged as a child or kissed on the forehead before bed. No one told me I was special or that they loved me. In fact, the only time my aunt and uncle touched me was to shove me back inside of my cupboard. The only words I had heard to describe myself up to this point were words like ‘nuisance,’ ‘useless,’ ‘ stupid,’ or ‘freak.’

Finding this bond with Neville was something I had craved without knowing I had craved it; I needed human contact. Of course Ron and Hermione were always nice to me and always said wonderful things to me, but with them it felt different because they weren't looking at the whole picture. They saw what I wanted them to see, so how could they really think I was special when they didn't know who I was underneath it all?

Neville saw all of me, physically and emotionally. Having a person to confide in without feeling afraid to disappoint them was more than I deserved. Neville saw all the things about me that I was ashamed of, and still told me I was special.

So I craved his attention. I needed it like I needed air. He made me like myself when I was sure there wasn't much of me to like, and hopefully I did the same for him.

If I wasn't in class or with Ron and Hermione, I was with Neville in some clandestine spot with my trousers around my ankles and his tongue in my mouth.

We, of course, had a discussion before too much of the naughty stuff happened and we decided that what we were doing was all physical. Yes, we liked one another's company plenty, yes we got along, and yes we cared deeply for each other, but neither of us felt anything beyond sexual attraction and companionship for the other. We weren't in love with each other, but we did love one another.

Personally, I was very fond of this plan.

Seemed less likely to leave me naked and rejected in a bath and seemed like a better option than staring longingly at L.B, wondering how long it took him to do his hair every morning.

So, we went at it. The amount of times we snogged is insurmountable. Being roommates, we had quite a lot of opportunities to get handsy with each other. A few instants stick out to me:

In particular, the first time we really properly snogged. It was toward the end of fourth year after our awkward first kiss. Originally, we decided it was best to leave our misadventures in the past, but one night Neville snuck into my bed and, as the saying goes, all caution was thrown out the window.

I had been screaming, you see. Nightmares. Everyone else in the dorm were heavy sleepers, but Neville wasn't. He woke up and tip-toed to my bed. I looked up at him, whispered an apology, and told him I was all right, but he shook his head. Then he shifted the covers so he could slip underneath to lay beside me and he pulled my head to his chest, stroking my hair.

He held me like that for what felt like an eternity. Never in my life had someone held me like that, so close, like he was genuinely invested in my well-being. After I was done being terrified from my nightmare, I looked up at Neville. His eyes were half-open and he had a soft smile on his lips. Sleep had nearly taken him over, so I decided to act quickly and impulsively (as is my mode of operation).

I shuffled up so our faces were inches apart and placed a very light kiss on Neville’s cheek near the corner of his mouth. He didn't move, so I kissed him again. This time with a bit more force. Still he didn't move. So I repositioned myself by propping myself on my elbow and kissed him again, this time full on the mouth.

Seconds later, Neville had managed to push me flat on my back and straddle me. His lips never leaving mine. The way he initially kissed me was like he had been starved and finally been presented with a loaf of bread.

My breathing went ragged very quickly and I felt my blood coursing through my veins. All I could think about were his lips and how they now moved across mine teasingly. After a bit of fevered kissing, Neville slowed it down as if to savor each second our lips were touching.

At first, his lips ghosted over mine, just barely making contact. Then he dragged his bottom lip over mine before capturing my top lip in a gentle nip. He repeated the motion a few times before running one of his hands up my bare chest, finally wrapping it around the back of my neck and pulling me in deeper.

The motion sent a tingle down my spine like an electric shock, which made my cock twitch. I pushed my pelvis up to meet his and rubbed myself against him. I quickly moved my hands to his hips and held tight as he pulled his lips away, beginning to trail kisses across my jawbone, down into the crook of my neck, then across my exposed collarbone. I tilted my head back and moaned into Neville’s ear. I needed him to know how much I wanted this, but my voice wasn't working properly.

Once he finished kissing the entire surface of my bare chest in a painstakingly slow manner, leaving me yearning for more, I pulled him back up to my lips. I needed to taste him again. I took his bottom lip in between mine and sucked on it lightly. He let out a soft whimper and thrust down, rubbing his cock up against mine. The friction of our erections grinding together, only separated by the thin fabric of our pajamas, sent me over the edge and before I knew it, my body was twitching and I was cumming.

Neville seemed surprised by my orgasm and looked at me with wonder in his eyes. I flipped him over quickly, so now he was laying flat on his back. He looked at me with curiosity, but didn't speak. I took this as my go ahead to gently pull down his pajama bottoms. I wanted to return the favor. I wanted to make Neville cum.

I heard Neville’s breath quicken and his chest began to heave up and down as I freed his erection from his boxers. His cock was now fully exposed and I looked at it for a moment before lowering my head down to place a kiss on the tip.

It tasted salty from the pre-cum that coated the tip of it. And I liked it. I liked the taste. I liked that his pleasure was a result of being with me. I ran my hands up the inside of his thighs, unsure how to proceed, but knowing full well that I _wanted_ to proceed.

With each stroke of his thighs, Neville let out quiet pleas for me to touch him. I enjoyed that I was controlling this response, that my hands were eliciting that reaction. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest as I watched his cock, dripping with pre-cum, waiting for me. And so finally, I lowered my mouth to him and swallowed as much of him as I could.

I gagged at first because the sensation was so unfamiliar, but then the pleasure of tasting Neville and the now pillow-muffled moans escaping his mouth gave me the confidence to continue. My lips were dripping with saliva and semen as I slid my mouth up and down the length of his penis.

Faster and faster, I bobbed up and down with a satisfying sucking noise. My tongue pushing against him, licking the tip each time in bobbed up to the head of his penis. He was throbbing inside of my mouth and now his hands were clutching at my bedsheets on either side of me. His hips bucked up and then I felt it. Warm, salty, slick inside of my mouth. And I swallowed it before sliding off of his penis and falling down on bed next to him. Completely confused and completely spent, I fell asleep without saying a word to Neville.

We continued on like that, snogging and rubbing up against each other for the next year and a half. Our dynamic was that of mates during the day and fuck buddies during the night. Neither of us was disillusioned as to think that what we were doing was going to last forever. We were both just placeholders for each other. Mind you, Neville was a very sexy placeholder, so I didn't mind so much.

Our nightly rendezvous lasted all the way up to my relationship with Ginny at the end of sixth year.

It was about that time that Neville found himself a bloke who, unlike me, wanted to be his boyfriend and not just someone who he could suck off in empty classrooms.

I was happy for him. But I was also sad because that safety net of human companionship was being pulled out from under me like a bad muggle magician’s trick. I tried to keep my footing, but I started to slip, especially after Sirius died and after I started to feel like no matter what I did, someone would end up dead.

Now when I needed to be held after a nightmare, I didn't have anyone to go to. Instead, I turned to Firewhiskey. Firewhiskey and my on-going obsession with L.B, which had spiraled out of control after seeing him naked with another man (see the journal entries).

Luckily, or unluckily depending how you look at it, it was around that time that things with Voldemort became all-consuming. I hadn't the time to really properly be lonely since we were on the hunt for his horcruxes. My love life was on pause until after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

 

**Chapter Eight: Summer Lovin’ Happened so Fast**

Once the war was over, I think I might have slept for a week straight. My body was overwhelmed, what with dying and coming back to life. I spent the time directly after the war at the Burrow with the Weasleys. That was my home, especially after losing Sirius and Remus.

I wasn't the only one who lost people dear to me. I don't think there was anyone who wasn't touched by the war in some horrible way and the Weasleys were no exception. Those amazing people, who welcomed me into their home and loved me in a way I never thought I deserved, lost Fred.

Fred and George; the twins. I had always looked up to them. They had this charisma when they were together. It was truly something to behold, so of course George was numb after losing his best friend.

We all were.

The Burrow was quiet that summer. We all mostly stayed out of the others way. That is until I started having trouble sleeping and began having nightmares so real that I would forget where I was. Most nights it was of Voldemort. Others it was of Sirius’s death. And sometimes it was all of them dying over and over again.

I wanted to talk about it. I needed to, but the Weasleys were grieving in their own way and none of them really seemed up for a chat about our dead loved ones. That is until one night, George came into my room at the Burrow.

It was almost dawn. The cicadas were chirping. A light layer of humidity filled the air and my nightclothes were sticking to me. I had just awoken from a nightmare, so when I heard footsteps stumbling into my room, I assumed I had screamed again and woke up Molly. But instead, George was sitting on the edge of my bed.

He had on this pained expression. It was somewhere between an uncomfortable smile and a grimace. I asked him what he was doing in my room and he replied with, “Ginny told me, you know?” And at first, I had no clue to what he could be referring. Then it hit me.

“About me?” I asked, sitting up in the bed so we could sit face to face.

“Technically about her, but the stuff about you popped up, too.”

“Right. But why are you here this early?”

“Wanted to say, me too.”

“You too?”

“Only Fred knew about it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, well now you and Ginny know.”

“Thanks.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Sorry?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What, why?”

“I think…well, I just…I need to be close to someone right now.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

George leaned in and I heard the bedsprings creak as he adjusted himself to where our faces were inches apart. He closed his eyes and moved into me. I kept my eyes open and watched our lips make contact.

His lips were a bit chapped, but somehow still soft. I could taste the salt of his tears on his lips, so he must have been crying right before visiting my room. At first, he didn't move his lips. He just left them there, pushing against mine. The pressure of his lips felt good. I hadn't realized how much I was craving human contact until he kissed me and then I felt desperate for it.

Eventually, he moved one of his hands up to wrap around my neck and pull me deeper into the kiss. We both breathed in deeply at the same time and then I felt him push his tongue into my mouth. I opened my lips to accommodate him and let his tongue massage mine.

Cautiously, I moved one of my hands up George’s thigh. I felt his muscle flex under my fingertips. My other hand gently cupped his chin and upon contact, George sighed into my mouth. A little less cautiously, I moved my hand from his chin to the back of his neck so I could pull him down on top of me.

George straddled me and I could feel his cock harden against my hip as I bucked up underneath him. One hand was still behind George’s neck, urging him to kiss me harder, deeper, while the other hand slid up under the hem of his cotton t-shirt. My hand was met with the warmness of his skin and the ripples of his abdomen. I spread my fingers out to feel all of him.

I thrust my hips up again so I could feel George’s groin against mine. This time he met me halfway and rocked his hips so our cocks slid together through the fabric of our pajama bottoms. The friction made my groin hot and I could feel my cock throbbing, aching to be touched. And almost on cue, one of George’s hands glided down my torso, stopping at the waistband of my pajama bottoms. George broke the kiss and said, “Is this okay?” Referring to putting his hand down my pants and since I didn't trust my voice, I nodded that yes it was okay before I caught his lips in a fevered kiss.

The waistband of my bottoms stretched as George slipped his hand inside. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest. I felt like I might explode from want. Then his hand touched the bare skin of my cock and I moaned so loudly into George’s mouth that he broke off from kissing me to smile and shushed me.

Now that the kiss was broken, George took this as an opportunity to nip at my throat and trace lines down the crook of my neck with his tongue. The sensation was like static electricity on my body. Each hair was standing on its end and when he started to stroke my cock, I moaned again. This time it was a hissing sound followed by a guttural moan. “Fuck, George…so good,” I moaned into his ear as he quickened the pace. I felt like I was going to cum right then, but abruptly he stopped.

“Can we…have you ever…what I mean is…” George stumbled over his words and I of course knew what he meant and up until that night, no I hadn't. But all of a sudden, I felt ready and I responded with, “I want to.”

The smile that crept across George’s face was a smile I hadn't seen on him since before Fred passed away. Quickly, George pulled my bottoms off and my erection sprang out to meet the humid air. Before moving to take his own clothes off, George just stared at my now exposed groin. “Merlin’s fucking ghost, Harry,” he whispered, “That is what I call a cock.”

We both laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement before I quickly pulled down his bottoms. His erection glistened with pre-cum and Merlin, did it make me want to take the full length of his cock into my mouth. So I did. George gasped at my brash action and then quickly moaned. He stood kneeling on the bed as I swallowed his cock.

He only let me get a few good sucks in before he pulled me up to kiss him hard on the mouth. “Impatient, Harry. Let’s do this properly.” I smiled at him as he littered kisses down my jaw, to my neck, and then let him flip me around and bend me over so I was on my hands and knees, bottom perked up in the air.

I closed my eyes and felt his now lubed fingers glide in between the crevasse of my arse cheeks. Finally, he pushed a finger inside of me and I bit down hard on my bottom lip. The pain was bearable, but it did leave me holding my breath. That is until he started to move his finger in and out of me, slowly at first before letting another finger join in. My cock was dripping with pre-cum and I tightened my arse around his fingers, “Fuck…fuck me, George.”

Before I could beg him anymore, George pushed his cock inside of me, slowly at first as I could feel the tip enter me. I pushed my hips back so I could feel his entire length inside of me. I tightened myself around him and he moaned into my back, “Fuck, Harry if you keep that up, I won't last much longer.”

At that admission, I started to push back into him harder and faster and was met with him pushing into me harder and faster. I fisted my cock, because it all felt too good and I was so near the end, and stroked myself as he thrusted into me. The double sensation drove me over the edge and I was cumming into my hand. “Fuuuuckkk,” I moaned and then felt the warmness of George’s orgasm spreading inside of me.

Afterwards, in a tangle of sweaty limbs, George and I fell asleep and it was the best rest I'd had since the war.

  
**Chapter Nine: With a Little Hell From My Friends**

After George and I slept together, we fell asleep. That was a big mistake. Ron usually woke me up and that morning was no different. He came barging in shouting about how Molly was so worried when she didn't see George in his bed. He was mid-sentence before he registered the sight in front of him.

George and I were spooning (George was the little spoon despite his significant height). We were spooning and we were naked. Like totally starkers. Not even a blanket to cover us.

“Bu…but…um, er, but George?” Ron stammered quietly, before fulling entering the room and shutting the door behind him. To his credit, I had assumed he would shriek upon seeing us, but he only kept stammering those words over and over.

George jumped up and pulled the sheet that had fallen off my bed over himself and left me to pull my pillow over my exposed groin. Ron stood, pink-faced, hopelessly looking back and forth between me and his brother.

“Ron, let me explain,” George began, walking toward his brother and placing a hand on Ron’s shoulder. Ron looked up at him and made this face that told me he was confused beyond words. It was the same face he reserved for Potions class whenever Snape went over the different uses of this ingredient or that. I, however, sat completely still because I was mortified. I mean, honestly, my best mate caught me spooning his older brother. Even if Ron had already known I was gay, that would have still been a lot to process.

As it were, Ron didn't know I was gay or that George was gay, for that matter. And just to put the icing on the cake, that was my official coming out party. Hermione and Ginny knocked at the door and entered cautiously when no one answered. Ginny spoke, “Mum’s a bit worried, did you find…” She was cut off when she saw the scene in front of her, well that and Hermione’s shriek.

“WHAT IN MERLIN’S BEARD?” Hermione shouted. Her face went red and it was clear from her tangled hairdo that she had just woken up. Ginny quickly moved her hand to cover Hermione’s mouth and Hermione did not like that.

“Shhh, don't want Mum and Dad coming in here, yeah?” Ginny said. Hermione nodded and Ginny removed her hand.

“I need pants,” I said rather eloquently. I have perfect timing, you see.

Ron’s eyes went wide and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he spoke, “Pants? Pants? You need pants? You know what I need? I need a bloody explanation right now.”

“Yes, well seems a tad obvious, doesn't it?” Ginny added gesturing to the nakedness of George and I as well as the mussed up bedding.

“Maybe, they were just…sleeping?” Hermione offered, not entirely convinced. She looked at Ron and shrugged her shoulders rather noncommittally.

“Harry, are you shagging my brother?” Ron asked rather bluntly. He was looking at me and only at me. And if I weren't all ready completely naked and exposed, I would have felt like I was under the intensity of his stare. I couldn't tell if he was more upset that I was gay or that I had slept with his brother.

“Only the once,” I respond, again rather eloquently.

“Ha, only the once,” Ron turns to Hermione and Ginny, “You hear that? It’s okay because it was only the once. And here I thought I was going to have to get angry.”

“Ronald, listen. Harry and I only slept together last night,” George stepped in to answer so I wouldn't say something else that was completely inappropriate.

“You’re gay, George?” Ron asked and I was a bit worried as to why Ron hadn’t included me in that statement.

“Well, yeah. Only Fred knew up until yesterday when I told Ginny and then obviously Harry.”

“Gin?” Ron asked, looking at his sister pleadingly.

“Sorry, Ron. I only found out because I told him that Harry and I were pretending to date to cover for the fact that we were both, uhh, totally queer,” Ginny shrugged as she said it. Her face went a bit red at her confession. Hermione’s head perked up at that she she eyed Ginny suspiciously.

“Oh, of course, how could I have been so blind?” Hermione says in a very exacerbated way. Her face lit up in understanding and the she continued, “Harry that explains your, uh, shall we call it an obsession, with L.B. You’re attracted to him.”

“I am NOT,” I semi-shouted. It was bad enough that I was naked and there were three people coming out at the same time. But to make matters worse, both the people coming out at the same time as me had both had their tongues in my mouth and were related to each other and to my best mate who was now looking at me like he might vomit all over the floor.

“YOU FANCY L.B?” Ron shouted, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I mean, I knew you were gay, but you're into him of all people?”

“Sorry, knew I was gay?” I asked. I shifted the pillow, so it would cover me as I scooted towards the edge of the bed.

Ron smirked, clearly pleased with himself for knowing something Hermione obviously didn't, “You and Neville weren't always as discreet as you thought, mate. Dean, Seamus, and I figured out ages ago.”

I'm sure my face was a nice shade of red because my cheeks definitely felt like they were on fire, “You knew and didn't say anything?”

“Well, you didn't either.”

“That's hardly the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Now, now, boys,” Hermione piped in, “We should really let George and Harry get dressed before we have any more of this conversation. But just to clear something up, Harry, you and George aren’t like…involved, are you?”

“No,” George and I said in unison.

“Right, good, now let’s give them some privacy. See you all for breakfast,” Hermione said and she grabbed Ron by the hand, dragging him out of the room with Ginny in tow.

  
You could say that coming out to my friends went swimmingly. Or you could say it was a totally embarrassing moment that I will never live down. But the one thing you can definitely say about it is that my friends didn't even care that I was gay, only that it took me so long to trust them with it.

 

 


	9. Draco Flirts with Harry and He Likes It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco, trying desperately to avoid another run in with Harry, wants to leave work before he shows up for a Photoshoot. Except, he runs right into Harry as he is trying to leave.
> 
> Also, Luna's article on Harry is included.

**_Location: The Bent Wand  
Mid-day, Potter Arrives for a Photoshoot  
Four Days After Getting Potter’s Book_ **

“Be ready, Drake. Potty’s coming in soon, so Creasley can take the picture that will go alongside your article in the next issue,” Blaise warned Draco, who was all ready on edge about seeing Potter after his revelation about the identity of L.B and the blasted dancing the night before.

“I am well aware. I will just take my lunch early, or something.”

“Avoidance won't work forever.”

“Watch me try,” Draco said with a smirk and stood up. He stuck his tongue out at Blaise, who looked a bit too happy to be someone on the receiving end of a tongue-out-face. As Draco turned, he made contact with someone’s very firm, very toned body. When Draco, opened his eyes and looked up, he saw Potter smiling at him. Always smiling now. Smiling at Draco every time they run into each other. Draco lingered against Potter’s body for a second before pushing himself backward and righting his stance.

“Morning, Draco,” Potter said, still bloody smiling.

“Erm, morning, Potter.”

Potter nodded at Draco and then turned his attention to Blaise, “Hey, Blaise, how are you? Saw Nev earlier and he was still a bit hungover from last night.”

“He’s such a lightweight,” Blaise phrased it as an insult, but his tone of voice, coupled with the smile that was creeping across his face, said otherwise.

Laughing, Potter added, “Me as well, actually. If it weren't for the hangover potion I took this morning, I'm sure I would look half-dead for this photoshoot. That would not be appealing at all.”

“Ha,” Draco involuntarily laughed. He slapped a hand over his mouth. A blush crept across his face at record speed. He looked at Potter who was still smiling at him, though it was a decidedly more curious smile as opposed to the pleasant smile he wore only moments ago.

“What was the laugh for, Drake?” Blaise asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Yes, is it so funny that I'm a lightweight?” Potter pushed, politely of course, and continued smiling.

“No, it’s just ridiculous to think that you could ever not look, well, not look nice enough to be in a photoshoot,” Draco blurted out, fully embarrassed now. He was sure his cheeks would never return to their original color. Permanently blushing. That would be his fate.

“Oh, well, thanks for saying so Draco,” Potter smiled at Draco again, this time in a very sexy, very lip curled up to one side way, “Well, better be off. Time to smile for the camera,” Potter said and waved at a now very pink-faced Draco and a very amused Blaise.

“Smooth, Drake. Avoidance seems to be working wonders for you, yeah?” Blaise teased. All Draco could do was sit his arse back down in his chair. There was no reason to go to lunch early, as his worst nightmare had all ready played itself out. 

                                                                                         ***

_Potter’s Positively Provocative  
By Luna Lovegood_

As so many of you know, Harry Potter has written a very lovely book about sex. Normally, we don't cover such things in The Quibbler, seeing as our usual topics involve Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks or the latest theory about the uses of Muggle items in the Wizarding World.

But today, I write as a dear friend of Harry’s, to explain just what this novel does. Yes, on the outside one could postulate that this book is a gratuitous pornographic depiction of one of the Wizarding World’s most beloved heroes.

And while it is that, it is also a harrowing journey through trauma and the ways Harry dealt with the burden of first feeling unloved as a child, then the burden of being ‘The Chosen One.’

Growing up the way Harry did, it’s actually quite impressive that he turned out to be such a kind, compassionate wizard. I remember one year, the year Harry and I became friends, that we were two of the only Hogwarts students who could see the Thestrals. This meant we had both seen a person die. Terrible circumstances. But the second half is that a person has accepted that death.

Knowing that, I realized that Harry was much more than the bubbly Gryffindor seeker who also fought dark wizards. Harry was a complex wizard who understood tragedy and the reality that follows.

That's what his wonderful book is about. It is about accepting his mistakes, understanding why he made those mistakes in the first place, and making amends with those he had wronged. It's really quite a brilliant piece of literature, even with all the gratuitous sex.

If I had to be blunt, which I usually enjoy doing, I would say that if you haven't read this book, you’re a fool and doubly to that bloke L.B.

Get your act together, honestly. 

                                                                                     ***

 

**_Location: Still The Bent Want, Photo Shoot  
Still Mid-day, Draco Watches Potter   
Four Days After Getting Potter’s Book_ **

Even though Draco’s original plan had been to be as far away from his office during Potter’s photo shoot, he still found himself with his arse planted in his chair like a tree rooted to its spot. He kept telling himself that he would get up and leave now. Yes, now. And yet, his arse stayed in its place because his desk had the perfect angle to view the room where Potter was getting prepped for his picture.

A modern building, so much of the interior was sharp edges, shades of white, and clear glass doors and walls. Draco could see right into the photo shoot and he watched the make-up artist dab a bit of powder on Potter’s face. Draco was enchanted because Potter managed to smile through the whole grooming process. Through the comb being pulled through his hair, the wardrobe guy fussing about at the hem of his robes.

Draco watched the wardrobe guy run his hands up and down Potter’s legs, taking his inseam and making sure the trousers fit properly. All Draco could think about was running his own hands up and down Potter’s inseam. Merlin, he thought, get yourself together, Draco. He’s just a man. Just a very fit man. Just a very fit man whom you’ve snogged. Just a very fit man whom you’ve snogged and also love.

Shaking his head, Draco un-stuck his arse from his seat and decided to walk to the break room for a very shitty cup of coffee. He pulled his work mug out of the cabinet and laughed at the saying, I'm crabby before my coffee, before pouring himself a tepid cup of what apparently passed as coffee in this office.

Once the proper amount of sugar was applied to his cup, Draco turned around and leaned against the counter. Unfortunately, he still had a good view of Potter in the other room. And, much to his surprise, he caught Potter looking over in the direction of his desk. Of course it was empty because Draco was in the break room, but it looked like Potter had expected to see him sitting there, which gave Draco this sort of stomach flop feeling akin to doing a nosedive on a broomstick.

Eventually, Potter’s gaze landed on Draco in the doorway of the break room. Once he spotted Draco, a soft smile appeared on his face. Draco smiled back and raised his cup to Potter silently asking if he wanted a cup. Potter nodded yes, so Draco began making another cup of coffee.

He knew how Potter took it because so many different interviews had been done on the man over the years. They started to delve into the absurd questions, like how do you take your coffee or what animal do you think you're most like.

Now with two mugs in hand, Draco headed to the photo shoot room. “Sorry, mates, can I come in?”

“Sure, yeah,” one of the photographers answered, so Draco entered and handed the cup off to Potter.

“Ah, you're a bloody lifesaver. I forgot to grab my morning coffee,” Potter said.

“It's not very good coffee, mind you. But it is coffee, so that counts for something,” Draco replied.

“All coffee sort of pales in comparison once you've had some from The Second Cup. Ever been there?”

“Oh, yeah. It's on my way to work. I get it almost every day.”

“Mm, lucky. It's a bit out of the way for me, but I make exceptions quite often and then arrive late to work. Boss hates it, but I started bringing him a cup so he’s almost forgiven me.”

“Clever. Bribe him with world class coffee. Wish that worked on Thomas, but alas he only takes tea. The bleeding prat.”

“Yes, that does make things more difficult, but I'm sure you'll find a way to schmooze your boss, too. A posh looking bloke like you probably only ever has to smile to get his way, yeah?”

“No, not all the time,” Draco laughed, “Sometimes I also have to wink.”

“Oh, poor thing. However will you get by?”

“It’s rough, but I'll manage.”

At that, the photographer said he was ready to shoot and so Draco made his exit. Potter waved at him and thanked him again for the coffee. Draco made his way back to his desk with a positively impressive smile on his face, one that might have actually stretched from ear to ear.

 


	10. To Mend, I Write

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters of Harry's book.

**_Chapter Ten: Set My Heart on Firewhiskey_ **

Would it surprise any of you that I got detentions quote often? No, right. Well, I did get detention often. I wasn't exactly a rule follower. Now, some might argue that it is one of my more obnoxious qualities, while I like to think it's actually very endearing and handsome of me.

But I digress. I often got detention for mouthing off to professors. I have what some may call a smart mouth. I tend to rub people the wrong way, especially if they say something that is completely mental.

So with my smart mouth, I landed myself in detention more times than I care to remember; however, one of those detentions was a tad more interesting than the others. This detention was served with L.B.

Of course, this wasn't the first, or only, time we shared a detention because if I had a smart mouth in school, his mouth was a bleeding genius compared to mine.

To say that L.B was sassy is like saying dragons are cuddly pets, or that the Forbidden Forest is a safe place for a picnic. That's to say, it’s misleading.

Remember that drinking problem I told you all about from fifth year? Well, turns out sneaking a few shots of Firewhiskey before attending detention with your current hate-crush was, and is, a bad idea. Now I wasn’t totally pissed, just enough so my all ready limited filter became non-existent.

So here’s the scene: L.B and all of his annoying handsomeness waltzes into the workroom looking positively annoyed that he of all people would have to be stuck in a room with me of all people for four hours on a Saturday cleaning Quidditch equipment. Wasn't exactly my idea of a nice Saturday either, but at least I didn't look like I'd rather be next to a Hungarian Horntail.

Just the two of us, polishing Quaffles and organizing broomsticks. The work didn't require much, if any, interaction between the two of us, but as I said, I was pissed and so my mouth would not stop moving.

“Bloody stupid, McGonagall’s making us do this,” I semi-slurred, throwing down a the rag that was meant to polish the snitches, “Bloody awful to way to spend a day.” I looked up at L.B. He wasn't looking at me, but instead seemed very amused by a Quaffle he was pulling from its case. But he was smiling. It was a small smile, playing around the corners of his lips and pulling the sides of his mouth upward.

I decided that I needed to see that smile again, even if it was only a small one, because in all the years I had known L.B, I had never been the cause of his smile. Smirks? Yeah, I had caused a few dozen of his trademark smirks. No, this was different. This was unguarded. This was a real smile, unburdened by the outside pressures of our reputations.

The combination of my slight inebriation, coupled with the fact that we were alone, really truly alone, for the first time since we met, gave me the courage to start a conversation I would have never otherwise considered.

“What landed you here then, eh?” I braved looking up from the snitch in my hand and nodded at L.B, hoping he would respond.

He looked up at me and his eyes dilated. His face scrunched up as if he were considering whether to tell me or not, and then he spoke, “None of your bloody business, is it now, Potter?” And with a rather ungrateful turn of the heel, I was looking at his back which wasn't altogether bad because Merlin, he had one nice looking arse, especially in those fancy trousers he liked to wear. The fabric tight across his backside was all it took to get me halfway to embarrassingly turned on. Bloody hell was it rather annoying to be simultaneously turned on by someone and also rather bothered by them.

Annoyed and still rather pissed, I scoffed at him before speaking, “That embarrassed, are you?” It was a challenge. My voice was more sturdy this time. I stood facing him and hoped he could feel my gaze on his back.

Slowly, he turned around and made a face at me that expressed what I decided translated to ‘you’ve got to be shitting me with this shit right now,’ because it wasn't angry. No, the look was one of amusement. I was amusing him. So, I kept baiting him, “Well, what was it then? Get caught stealing treacle tarts from the kitchens?”

A laugh escaped his pursed lips and his posture softened. He let his right hip hang loosely and put all of his weight on his left foot. Then placed a hand on his hip. “I’ll have you know,” he started, “it wasn't anything food related. I'm not bloody Weasley, am I?”

“Eh, ‘spose not. What then? Talk back to a professor when they told you that you’re not as smart as you think?”

“Ha, bloody laughable,” he raised any eyebrow at him in an aggressively attractive way and instantly I was reminded of him moaning my name while S.Z got him off. I felt my trousers getting tight over my groin.

I shifted, trying to make it less noticeable that I was sporting a semi and went back to polishing the snitch in my hand. After a few moments of silence, I spoke again, “I’ll tell you what landed me here, if you tell me why your posh arse is polishing Quaffles with me on a Saturday instead of strutting around campus with your mates.”

L.B sat down on the workbench and cross his legs, “I rather like you trying to guess what I did. Makes the time go by faster.” His words were dripping with sexuality. Each drawling syllable hit me right in the groin.

I decided to sit down on the bench across from him so we could be face to face, “So, let's make it interesting.”

“I’m listening?”

“If I get it in…let’s say five more guesses, you’ve got to stand up in the middle of dinner tonight and yell ‘Potter Rules.’”

“Ha, and when I win?” He raised his eyebrow again in a very confident way and I felt my cock twitch. It was like his eyebrow had a direct line to my groin. Thank Merlin I was sitting down now. Much easier to hide my arousal when I can cross my legs.

“I’ll do the same, only shout your name,” at that point I was blushing at the double entendres of the conversation. I so much wanted to hear him scream my name, but not in the Great Hall. No, I wanted to see him arch his back and finish on my chest while grunting out, “Fuck yes, Potter.”

“Fine. Deal.”

I extended my hand so we could make the deal official, “Deal,” I whispered as he placed his hand in mine. At first touch, I couldn't move my hand. I was too focused on the contrast of his skin. Smooth on the back of his hand, but rough on his palm like me. Calloused from riding broomsticks. L.B shook our hands for us and then dragged his hand away from mine, letting his fingers linger on my skin a fraction longer than necessary.

Shaking my head clear, I started to think out loud, “Okay, so it's not food related.”

“No,” L.B laughed and I felt my heart bursting with pride because now I had made him smile and laugh. It was the least hostile conversation we had ever had and I was enjoying it immensely. I wasn't disillusioned, mind you. I knew that we could never have had a conversation like this if there were anyone else around, so it was now or never.

“Then I'll guess you got caught making a first year cry or something?”

“Well, I see what you bloody well think of me then,” he said with a mock hurt face, sticking out his bottom lip in an pout that was absolutely unfair because it was distracting. All I could focus on was how supple and pink it was and how I wanted to take it between my lips.

I shook my head to clear the thought and asked, “So?” because what he said wasn't exactly an answer and as much as I was enjoying making him laugh, I did want to win. I'm very competitive.

“Obviously not, Potter.”

I bit my lower lip in thought and looked him up and down, trying to think of some other detention-worthy offense. I was trying at all costs to avoid bringing up the shagging in the Shrieking Shack, even though that was all I was thinking about. All I kept seeing when I closed my eyes was L.B’s naked body, back arched in pleasure.

I had to get it together, or else the semi-problem in my trousers would become a full-fledged problem. So I made a quick guess, “Fine, right. Filch caught you out after curfew?”

“Strike two.”

“Fuck.”

Amused at my use of expletive, L.B smiled and said, “Potter has a potty mouth, eh?” Then he smiled in a casual way like a shrug, but with his lips.

“Oh, shove it. So, how about being late to class too many times?”

“I’m never late, Potter,” He said all matter-of-factly and I had to admit he was right. In all our years at school, I had never seen him late to anything.

“You snuck in contraband? Alcohol or something like that?”

“Nothing so pedestrian, no. Last guess by the way.”

And with that, I knew I'd have to bring up the naked thing, otherwise I would be standing up in the middle of dinner screaming his name and I very much wanted to avoid that. I went for it, “All right, going out on a limb here; you got caught shagging someone?”

L.B goes quiet and his cheeks flush pink. It was fucking adorable. Never in my life did I think I could see L.B look so…so bloody innocent, so unbelievably vulnerable. I mean shit, it was bad enough I couldn't stop thinking of his naked body, now I was going to have to live the rest of my life knowing what it looked like when L.B was utterly unguarded and also knowing that I might never see him that way again. It was beautiful. But it was also one of the most depressing things I had ever endured.

“Oh,” was all I managed to say. Because I was sure the coy pink tint of L.B’s cheeks was nothing to the fire I felt rushing up to my own. I was blushing in the most fierce way.

Noticing my embarrassment at the situation, L.B took the opportunity to posture himself again. “Well, a growing man has needs, Potter. Can't expect us all to stay virgins for the rest of our lives like you and Weasley.”

“Oi, I've done plenty of stuff, yeah? Just never got caught like some people.”

“Sure, Potter. Of course you have.”

“I have.”

“Right, of course. I totally believe you.”

“Come off it, L.B.”

“Sorry, just you seem the prudish type.”

“Well, I'm not. Anyways, you lost so get ready to scream my name,” I said, but then continued under my breath, “not that you haven't practiced that all ready.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Oh, nothing…it’s just, well…we should finish cleaning these.”

Now of course he chickened out at dinner that night. I never truly expected him to shout my name like that, not really. Plus, I figured I had leverage over him now. So even without him embarrassing himself in front of the school, I felt like I had gained something very valuable.

  
**_Chapter Eleven: I Spied With My Eye, Something Delicate_ **

Now for this next part, I am going to need all of you to remember that I was young, I was naive, and I was out of my mind. Because if you forget any of these things, you will think that I am a bit of a tosser really and I'd like to stay in your good graces if I could.

After detention, L.B and I went on like nothing had changed. We still only spoke to each other using insults. We only shared suspicious glances. And we certainly only said each other's names using our inside voices.

This went on all the way through the war and into our eighth year at Hogwarts. Tensions were still a bit high even after Voldemort was dead and gone, but McGonagall managed to unify the students who were very directly involved in the war. And so many of us became friends, as we all now had this shared experience to bond us.

Of course there were the naysayers who claimed they could never forgive so-and-so for their betrayal, but one thing I realized was; we were all still kids. I mean children fighting in a war. Children picking sides when they weren't even sure what that fully meant. Children who were forced into the wrong choices for things like family allegiance or fear of safety. Children who had to bear the impossible weight of our choices, good and bad, for the rest of our lives.

It was enough to drive me back into the arms of my beloved Firewhiskey. But it was also enough to open my eyes to the narrow mindedness of some of my own values or morals. I had to deal with the very real possibility that I was biased, prejudiced, and insensitive towards people in the same way that I was condemning those people for being towards me.

I was hurt by this epiphany because I had thought since I was on the ‘good’ side, I was somehow immune to the traits we reserved to describe the ones who fought against us. I spent so much of my time judging people, insulting people, and putting them into these impossibly unfair stereotypes.

That's when I decided that I needed to make amends. I like to refer to it as the Harry Potter Apology Tour of ’98 because I literally sat down anyone I had ever treated unfairly and apologized to them, even if it was because I had once commented on how their hair looked frizzy when it rained (sorry again, Hermione).

I apologized for all things great and small, except for one thing; I avoided apologizing to L.B for seeing him naked, not that he exactly knew I had seen him naked. However, it was weighing on my conscious by this point. That’s when I made a terrible, awful decision, which was to tell him I had seen him naked and to apologize for not walking away after I realized what was happening.

Later, I was waiting for L.B in the eighth year common room. It was a few days until Christmas. The room was warm from the fireplace burning and there were wreaths hanging all around. Even a bit of mistletoe hung in a corner by Hermione’s favorite old reading chair.

Most everyone had gone home for the holiday, even Ron and Hermione had left before me, since I told them I had some business to take care of and that I’d meet them at the Burrow soon. Really the only people left in the eight year dorms were me, L.B, Neville, and S.Z., so I knew I would be able to get L.B alone.

His posh arse strolled into the common room and made a beeline straight for the staircase leading up to our rooms. I shouted for him to wait up. But he ignored me. He freaking ignored me! Pretended I didn't exist! I bloody well felt like I was wearing my invisibility cloak since he didn't even glance over at me when I spoke.

I rushed up the stairs after him. Out of breath, I huffed, “Hey, you git, wait up!”

And that time he turned around. He had just made it to his room but he turned around, narrowed his eyes at me, and grunted out, “What. Do. You. Want. Potter.”

“Only to apologize.”

“What? Apologize?” L.B asked and looked around the halls to see if we were alone before continuing, “What for?”

“Uh, well, it's sort of a delicate topic. Could we go in your room?”

With an incredulous look on his face, L.B blurted out, “Delicate? Topic? My room?”

“Yes, that's what I’ve just said.”

“Oh, yes. I heard what you’ve said. What I want to know is…well, are you pulling my leg here?”

“No. What? Why would you…?”

“Oh, I don't know,” L.B threw his hands up in exasperation, clearly annoyed with me, “Maybe because we don't exactly speak enough for you to have something to apologize for?”

“Could we just…go in you room?” I gestured toward the closed door and shrugged up shoulders to show I meant no harm. I was sure if I could get into his room, I would be able to go through with what was sure to be the most embarrassing confession of my life.

“S.Z might be in there.”

“No, uh…he is otherwise engaged at the current moment,” I said with a nudge toward mine and Neville’s closed door. Once we were both quiet enough, soft moans could be heard coming through the walls.

L.B grimaced and did a sort of shake-and-shrug motion, like he was disgusted at the thought, before conceiting, “Oh, all right. Fine, come in, but do not sit on my bed, Potter.”

I put my hands up at that and then made the ‘cross my heart’ motion across my chest to prove my sincerity. Upon entering, I saw that his room was set up much like the one I shared with Neville, Ron, Seamus, and Dean.

L.B and I had even picked the same bed. The one furthest from the door and closest to a window. His area was the cleanest. All neatly folded clothes, freshly polished shoes, and perfectly fluffed pillows. So without thinking, as is very typical of me, I said, “Wow, you're a bleeding neat freak.” And let me tell you that that was not the way to start up an apology. Now an all ready annoyed L.B glared at me with so much venom, I was actually scared that his magic might make me explode.

“Sorry, what I meant is you have a nice room. Very…” I decided to pick my next word carefully and settled on, “organized.”

Clearly not willing to exert the energy to return my perceived insult in kind, L.B., in a rather exhausted tone, said, “Fine, so what is it you wanted to say to me?” And then he very gracefully plopped himself on the edge of his bed, folded his hands across his lap, and looked up at me expectantly.

“Okay, so this is delicate…”

“As you’ve stated, please move past the prologue and get on with it.”

“Right, yes, of course,” I straighten up, as if proper posture would make this easier. “So fifth year I was drinking a lot and well, when I drank I liked to roam the castle.”

“Okay?”

“My favorite spot to roam to was the Shrieking Shack.” L.B’s eyes widened a bit at that, but he kept his mouth shut. I kept going, “and I sort of…witnessed something I maybe shouldn't have and I wanted to say sorry for not saying anything sooner, and sorry that I stayed a bit too long when I realized what I had walked in on.”

“Uhh…” L.B started, but stopped short seemingly unable to find words. He sat there opening and closing his mouth like a fish trying to breath out of water.

“Yeah, so…”

“Umm, you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you saw me…?”

“So, basically…I saw, uh, saw you in a delicate position,” I said and once I realized the mistake, I quickly added, “Oh, Merlin. Bad wording. Shit.”

With a shakiness to his voice, L.B said, “But, we…I didn't see anyone there?”

“Invisibility cloak,” I shrugged in an awkwardly apologetic way, which I'm sure didn't seem very apologetic. “Sorry.”

“You watched?” L.B’s mind seemingly caught up to our conversation and he realized exactly what I had meant about ‘staying too long.’ He immediately stood up, body tense, and looked me in the eyes with all the ferocity of a Basilisk.

“I was drinking and…I was in shock,” I lied. I hadn't been in shock, I was intrigued. “I hadn't expected anyone to be in there.”

“But you’re saying you stayed?” L.B inched forward. “For which part? What exactly did you see?”

“Oh, no, no, nooo. I don't think that's such…” I started to say, waving my hands in front of my body, hopefully signaling that it was a very bad idea to keep the conversation going in that direction.

L.B’s hand lurched forward and bunch up my robed, pulling me forward a bit and then spat out, “You will tell me what you saw. You owe that much to me for spying on a private moment of mine.”

“It’s just, I really think it's better if I don't say.”

“Potter. You. Will. Tell. Me. So. Help. Me. Merlin. Or else I will hex you into next week!”

“I saw S.Z giving you a hand job, you cumming on his chest, and then you saying ‘Fuck yes, Potter,’” I blurted out all in one breath, like a verbal ripping of a bandage. Quick and relatively painless.

Letting go of my robes, L.B’s face went white, which was actually quite impressive seeing as he was all ready almost as pale as Moaning Myrtle. Coupled with his very pale face, I noticed his hands had balled into fists at his side and I was quite sure he was about to punch me (which I totally would have deserved).

“Get out,” he finally whispered. I didn't move so he spoke again, louder this time, “GET OUT!” And so I took one last look at L.B before turning around and sulking out of the room. I’m not really sure what I expected to happen as a result of that conversation.

What I can say is, that admission or apology, whatever you want to call it, it wasn't for him. It was for me. I wanted him to know I had seen him. I wanted him to know that I knew he fancied me, at least sexually.

It was one of the more selfish things I have ever done in my life because now I can see that no matter what, that conversation would never had made L.B feel better. It could only serve to embarrass him or call him out for something that I shouldn't have even known.

It was even a little cruel of me and now, ironically, I really did have something I needed to apologize for, but he wouldn't even look at me after that. Not for a while.

 

**_Chapter Twelve: Long(ing) Time in the Making_ **

The secret was out.

L.B knew I saw him. Knew that I knew he had called out my name in pleasure. It was all I could do to not stare at him constantly. I wanted a do-over apology. Needed one, more like. Never in my whole life had I been so obtuse as when I had announced to my long-time hate-crush that I had seen him getting a handy in the Shrieking Shack. I honestly don't know what I expected.

But it sure as hell wasn't what happened next.

Christmas came and went, then it was back to Hogwarts for the last semester of my school career. I was very happy, but also sadness hit me in waves when I stopped to think of the home I would be losing once school was over.

Hogwarts was the first place I had ever felt like anything more than someone’s burden. Hogwarts was my home.

On a day when I was feeling particularly melancholy about the impending end to my rather sordid school career, I decided to go for a walk around the castle grounds sans alcohol. I had nearly kicked the nasty habit over winter break, once Ginny called me a ponce for drowning my sorrows instead of dealing with them.

I visited Hagrid. I roamed around the Quidditch pitch. I walked around in the third floor corridor that was off limits all those years ago. Spent a little time in the restricted section of the library. And I even went to the Shrieking Shack. It was a like a greatest hits album. I was lingering in all the places that held significance to me, so it's no wonder I ended my walk about the castle in the Astronomy Tower.

It was where Dumbledore died. Where I felt the most helpless I had felt in a long time. It was a painful memory, filled with regret and anger at Dumbledore for keeping me in the dark. As much as he was a mentor to me, he was also my greatest source of aggravation. He simultaneously helped me grow into the wizard I am now, while stunting my growth by deciding when I needed to know certain things.

While there, sulking in a corner, I heard footsteps. They were light steps. Airy like the person was tip-toeing. Then I heard a whisper, “Potter? Potter, are you up there?” The voice called out to me a few times before I decided to reveal my semi-hidden sulking spot.

“Who’s there?” I asked and came face to face with L.B, who was grimacing. Whether it was at me or the location, I never did figure out.

“I was looking for you. Someone said they saw you sulking about up here,” L.B said with a flick of the wrist. His robes flaring out as he paced in front of me.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“With me?”

“Yes, obviously. Are you purposefully being dense?”

“No. I just figured after…well, that you wouldn't ever speak to me again.”

“Yeah, I was a bit…shocked at that. I’ve calmed down a bit and now I want to talk about it.”

“What is there to say?” I asked, and quickly added, “Other than for me to say I'm sorry for even bringing it up and for being so insensitive toward you.”

“I wanted to make you understand something.”

“What's that?”

“I, well, we…me and S.Z, that is, well…we both realized we liked blokes around the same time. Had crushes, see. He had one on Neville and, well, Ihadoneonyou…” L.B choked out the last bit so it sounded like one very long, jumbled word.

“You what?”

“Don't make me say it again, Potter.”

“Fine. Go on.”

“Right well, I couldn't bloody well have a crush on you! I mean, Harry Potter of all people? I had to have a crush on you. Ugh, you were, are, so fit and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you, but I have this reputation. As you well know.”

“So, you pretended to shag me? In, what? An effort to get over the crush?”

“In a way. S.Z and I both knew our crushes were ludicrous. The both of us liking two of the most Gryffindor students the school’s seen in years. And of course there was that other little thing, you were boys. We liked boys. To say we were confused is obvious. We were confused and also curious, so we struck up a deal.”

It all sounded very familiar, so I offered, “Mates with benefits?”

“Yes. Mutually assured destruction if anything ever got out. Except then it turned out Neville was bent and I was left to my own devices again because there was no bloody way you were bent, or that I would even think of telling you that I fancied you. Only reason I am able to do this now is because I drank a bit of Firewhiskey and currently can't seem to care that this is embarrassing.”

“Wow, I don't know…”

“Shush, Potter.”

“Don't shush me!”

“Shush, let me finish,” L.B waited to see if I was going to interrupt again and when he was satisfied that I wouldn't, he continued. “Then before break you told me you’d seen us and you stayed longer than natural curiosity would account for, so I started thinking that maybe you weren't as straight as I thought.”

I coughed in response, unsure of what words to say or even if there were words that conveyed my emotions properly.

“So, I'm here to…test a theory.”

“Which is?”

L.B moved closer to me and I could feel his warm breath on my face. It smelled heavily of Firewhiskey, but also had soft hints of something sweet. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. Closed his eyes. Straightened his posture and then let his arms dangle at his sides loosely. He started to lean into me.

It was then that I realized just exactly how much I had wanted this because before L.B could close the rest of the space between us, I threw my hands up behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss. I breathed him in as our lips crashed together. Mixed with the sharpness of the winter air all around us, I tasted the Firewhiskey on his lips.

We stumbled backwards; me because I felt my knees go weak, and L.B possibly from the shock of it all. I felt him mumble something against my lips, but I wouldn't let him out of the kiss. I kept my lips pushed firmly on his, never wanting this moment to end.

But it did.

It ended all too quickly because as soon as we were kissing, there were footsteps approaching on the stairs. We pulled apart abruptly, not wanting to be caught. L.B looked at me and his eyes were wild. Pupils dilated. Wide with want. I'm sure my eyes looked no different because everything in me, every atom, every piece of me wanted to put my lips back where they had been moments ago.

Instead L.B whispered, “Meet me back here at midnight.” He turned away, headed for the stairs before I could even respond. Now, where he had disappeared to, stood Ron and Hermione, who had apparently ‘been looking all over for you, Harry James Potter, you had us so worried!’

After a long, detailed lie as to why L.B had rushed out of the tower with red cheeks (I told them we had an argument, which was so typical of us that Ron and Hermione didn't even question it), I headed back to the common room where I sat and waited. The clock ticked by excruciatingly slow. Each tick and each tock echoed inside my head. I waited with bated breath for the evening to pass into the twilight and the twilight to pass into midnight.

Clad in my invisibility cloak, I made my way back to the tower with the most obnoxious grin plastered across my face. My cheeks were numb from it. I even felt the sides of my face twitch from sitting in the same manner for so long.

The night was quiet and all I could hear was the occasional hoot of an owl. When I reached the top of the tower, no one was there, but I didn't worry because it wasn't yet midnight. I planted my arse down in the exact spot where mere hours ago, I had realized my desire to snog L.B.

In the cold, I waited. I watched my breath turn to fog in front of me with each deep breath I took. My stomach soured; the original giddy feeling slowly being replaced by that empty-gut-feeling I would get when doing an extremely ridiculous nose-dive on my broom. The dark of night shifted into the soft blue glow of the dawn and then finally, I was left to bask in my rejection by the light of a new day.

He never showed. He never explained. I never recovered from it. 

 

 


	11. Draco Gets Coffee and a Visit from Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco, alone and thinking about how to approach his feelings about Harry's book, sits drinking coffee at his favorite spot. Then Harry arrives and flirts. 
> 
> Draco's article is included.

**_Location: The Second Cup Café  
Alone, Drinking Espresso   
Six Days After Getting Potter’s Book_ **

The café was empty except for Draco and an older muggle man who sat reading a newspaper. It was oddly comforting to be in muggle places and Draco found he quite liked the anonymity of it all. No one here ever looked at him with that sideways glance reserved for ex-death eaters. Even after being cleared of all charges and making himself a decent career at The Bent Wand, Draco still felt like scum often. Especially when someone had the nerve to come up to him and make some nasty comment about his family or his connections to Voldemort.

Draco hadn’t forgiven himself after the war, not completely. His father had made sure of that. Draco made the mistake of visiting him in Azkaban once, only to be accosted with a string of insults that left Draco hating himself more than he ever had. That was during their eighth year at Hogwarts. The meeting with Lucius coincided with Potter’s horrible attempt at an apology for catching him starkers with Blaise in the Shrieking Shack. Draco had been overwhelmed and turned to Firewhiskey, which is why he didn't remember the kiss he shared with Potter.

Alone and lost in his thoughts, Draco didn't even notice a man sitting down at his table. It was only when he heard a small cough that he turned his head to see none other than Harry Potter sitting down, coffee cup in hand. He was dressed in muggle clothes and Draco couldn't help but notice how tightly they fit, especially the sleeves around Potter’s biceps.

“Evening, Draco,” Potter spoke then took a sip of his coffee. Draco was briefly mesmerized by Potter’s lips and the way the sat on the cup. So plump, so inviting.

Instead of saying what he wanted to say, which was some variation of ‘kiss me right now,’ Draco settled on a simple question, “Potter. When did you sit down?”

“Only a moment ago. How’s your coffee?”

“Better than that other beverage parading as coffee at the offices.”

“Oh, it wasn't _too_ bad.”

Draco made a face at Potter that seemed to say ‘come on, you’ve got to be kidding me’ before adding, “It was awful.”

“Okay, yeah it was pretty bad. This stuff’s good though.”

“Top of the line,” Draco agreed, and they both took a sip of coffee at the same time. The warm liquid made its way to Draco’s stomach and he felt oddly comfortable here with Potter trading quips, as if they had been friends all along. “Enjoy the photoshoot yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah. It's so fun to force a smile in front of a flashing camera for hours on end,” Potter dead panned and Draco decided that Potter was almost as sassy as he was. Almost.

“Never seen you have trouble with smiling before.”

“Not when there’s something pretty to smile at, no,” Potter said that bit while smiling directly at Draco. There was no mistaking Potter’s meaning there, so Draco’s face lit up again. Especially when he saw Potter lick his lips slowly.

Blushing seemed to be a customary occurrence for Draco, now that Potter had popped himself back into his life. A bit desperate for a topic that wasn't flirting, Draco asked, “So, what brings you here?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

Draco, still a bit focused on Potter’s lips, settled into his sassy voice, which he usually reserved for Blaise and Pansy, “Oh, and what's that?”

“When is your article on my book coming out?”

“Oh, tomorrow actually,” Draco was surprised at the simplicity of the question. He was sure that Potter was going to ask something different or at least he hoped, so he prompted, “Was that all?”

“Uh, yes…” Potter moved to stand up, but then stopped and turned back to face Draco again, “Actually, no. No, it wasn't.”

When Potter didn't continue, Draco prompted him again, “Well?”

Potter moved his free hand up to his mussed up hair and started to run his fingers through it. “Well, um, er. You finished the book right?”

“Yes, of course. How could I review it if I hadn't finished it?”

“Right, yes. Of course,” Potter said, hand still running through his hair. The unspoken question lingered in the air between them. Of course Draco knew what Potter really meant was ‘if you finished the book, why haven't you come round?’ Draco wasn't ready to answer that question. Not yet anyway.

Instead of speaking, Draco let himself focus on the tightening of Potter’s forearm each time he ran his fingers through his hair. The motion was all Draco could focus on for a while, which meant the pair of them sat in silence until Draco snapped himself out of it. “Is that it, Potter? I really need to get going.”

“Right. Sorry. Yes, well, I will see you around?”

“Yes, I'm sure you will.”

                                                                                     ***

  
 _Spotlight Author of the Month: Harry James Potter_  
From Chosen One, to One Hoping to Be Chosen  
By Draco L. Malfoy

This week I will be reviewing a book written by London’s favorite ‘Boy Who Lived.’ As so many other publications have undoubtedly said, this novel is a very wonderful accomplishment for our resident ‘Chosen One.’ As if saving our collective arses wasn't enough, now he wants to dazzle us with his sexual prowess and undisputed gift for the written word.

Now I do a lot of reading, so when my editor asked me to pick up Harry James Potter’s debut novel, how could I resist? I would get a look inside one of the most complex wizards I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

At Hogwarts we weren't exactly friends, but even I can't deny the aura that surrounds Potter. He infuses people with hope and sometimes undeserved kindness. Even when I was a total arse to him in school by insulting his friends, his hair, and his skills with the ladies (which is now understood), he still saved me time and again. Even when I might not have deserved it.

So, if someone were to ask me what I thought of his novel, I would have to tell them that I thought it was the most honest thing I have read to date. Most people would shy away at the level of honesty and self-reflection it took Potter to write this book, but not him. He sat down with the intention to write a book that dissected his most intimate moments, putting them on display for us all to see.

And he did so, fully aware that this kind of thing can never be wiped from the memories of our community. He did so knowing there was a chance people would react poorly, treat him with less respect, or even chastise him for his choices.

He pursued bravely and in doing so, he gave hope to a new generation of witches and wizards. He showed readers that even people who are perceived as perfect still mess up from time to time. Potter gave people the leeway to forgive themselves for being a ponce when they were younger and didn't know any better. And he gave young wizards and witches the courage to unashamedly be who they are without hesitation.

Anyone who reads this book will be a better person for it.

I know that I am.

Thanks again, Harry James Potter, for being the kind of wizard people want to believe in. 


	12. What I Was Unable to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapters of Harry's book.

**Chapter Thirteen: Out and About**

Don't cry for me just yet. Yes, it's true I was rejected. And, yes, I will admit it put me in quite the sour mood for the rest of school. But I persisted. I became an expert at ignoring L.B and I passed my NEWTs. Then I became an Auror, just like everyone had always expected of me. All neat and tidy.

In fact, I had all but pushed L.B from my mind until recently, which is decidedly easier when one doesn't have to run into said crush in the halls or communal showers.

That is until, as fate would have it, I ran into him at a Muggle gay bar in the heart of London. The same Muggle bar I was caught sneaking out of mere months ago. The one that earned me a front page article in the Daily Prophet penned by my absolute favorite columnist, Rita Skeeter (are you picking up on the sarcasm there?).

I was caught sneaking from said bar because I wanted to avoid a conversation with L.B. Mature? No, definitely not. Smart move? Eh, jury is still out on that one.

I do want to take this brief moment to thank Rita Skeeter for outing me to the entire Wizarding World. Without that push, I don't think I would have wrote this book. In many ways, it's been a cathartic experience and a way to analyze and understand so many of the things that I tried to pack away neatly and leave in my Hogwarts trunk between my Gryffindor ties and jumpers.

Turns out making a hasty exit, even under the cover of strobe lights and foam, can cause a scene. Some of L.B’s friends noticed me noticing them and I abruptly excused myself from my current dance partner and darted toward the exit. I mean all I wanted to do was unwind and dance with a stranger, who didn't know or care who I was, after a horribly long day at the Ministry. When I realized L.B was there, I was sure I couldn't enjoy myself.

By the time I reached the alley where the side door for the bar was situated, I was out of breath. I was obviously not paying attention to my surroundings because all of a sudden I heard a familiar pop of someone apparating.

There he was standing in front of me, wearing an absurdly tight v-neck shirt that was clinging to his chest in a mixture of sweat and the aforementioned foam. His once bare arms were littered with tattoos. His trousers were the same fancy dark gray ones he always wore at Hogwarts that hugged his body in all the right areas.

“Why are you leaving in such a hurry?” He asked with a hint of insecurity in his voice that I never remembered being there. “My friends said you saw me and then bolted. Feels a bit personal. I don't want you to feel like you can't be here just because I am.”

“No, nothing to do with you. Just realized I was late for a meeting.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Wha—oh, yeah. Mmm, right. Very urgent Auror business.”

“Sure. Well, I'll leave you to it then. Nice to see you, I suppose,” L.B said, sounding dejected and moved to open the door back into the club. He had all but disappeared behind the door when I decided to go for it.

“I lied. I was leaving because I saw you. It shocked me a bit.”

Peeking his head back out of the entryway, L.B. asked, “Why? We’re adults now, yeah? We can handle being in the same place as each other. Or if you’re worried about me…ya know, outing you. Because don’t. I would never do that. It’s hard enough being gay without being outed before you're really ready to deal with it.”

“No, that's not it.”

“Then what is it? Do you still hate me? I really thought we might be past that by now. School was so long ago.We made amends, or so I thought.”

“No that's not…I, uh..it’s nothing, I should go.”

“Or you could,” L.B shrugged and gave me a half-smile, “or you could come in and dance with me?”

“What?”

“Dancing, you know that thing people do to music? It’s half the reason people go to clubs like this one?”

“I know what dancing is, you great bleeding prat,” I said, flustered. Then, against my better judgement, I asked, “What's the other half?”

L.B smiled at that, which shocked me because normally upon being called names, L.B would instantly pout and then throw an insult back my way. Then he said, “I think you know the answer to that.” L.B winked at me and it dawned on me what the other half was.

L.B ignored my blushing face and asked, “Is that a yes then?”

“One dance.”

“One dance. I can live with that.”

I followed L.B back into the club. The DJ was spinning some song that I didn't recognized, but L.B looked back at me and mouthed ‘I love this song.’ He grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the dance floor. It all felt like a dream. Being there with the music filling my head like a dreamy lullaby and the foam falling from the ceiling like very decadently scented snow.

Still not entirely sure what possessed me to agree to a dance, or why L.B had even wanted said dance, I followed him out to the middle of the dance floor. Part of me was reliving the pain of being rejected, but the other part of me was remembering the kiss we had shared. The memory of his lips against mine forced me to stay put, sway my hips to the music, and pray he brings me closer.

No one in the crowd knew us. We were, as far as I could sense, the only wizards in the club. The friends L.B had been with stood over by the bar and I was happy to realized I didn't know any of them, and they didn't look like they knew me.

We were alone again, just like in the tower, except this time we were alone in the middle of a crowded dance floor with foam clinging to our bodies.

L.B smiled at me and gestured with his hands to see if it was okay for him to move in closer to me once we found a spot on the dance floor. I nodded and felt a buzzing in my body, like I was vibrating at a higher frequency.

A foam-slicked hand ran up from my wrist to my shoulder then down my back, settling in the crook right above my arse. L.B applied some pressure with his hand, guiding me forward. When our bodies connected, I instantly felt the wetness of his shirt on my own. Our faces were angled, mine to the left and his to the right. Finally I felt him start to gyrate to the music. Slowly grinding against my pelvis, making small circles, then bigger circles.

Someone may as well have hit me with an Immobulus charm because I stood stiff as L.B danced on me. The only part of my body I was sure still worked was my heart because of its furious knocking against my chest with each gyration of L.B’s hips.

L.B didn't seem to notice me standing still, or if he did he appreciated it because it made it easier for him to dance on me. Watching his pale, angelic features under the blinking of the strobe lights, I had a moment where I couldn't believe that L.B was dancing with me or that he’d followed me out of the club or that he could move like that. So freely, so provocatively. I wondered where he learned it. I wondered who had helped him remove the shackles of repression that he wore at school.

By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, L.B had managed to turn around. Now instead of his face, I was looking at the nape of his neck. It was dripping with sweat and I licked my lips at the sight. I wanted to drag my tongue across his neck, but I refrained.

Instead, I decided to focus on the arch in his back as he ground his arse against my groin, which was now the second part of my body I was sure still worked. I moved my hands, slowly, and placed them on his hips. I felt the movement of his muscles under my fingers. It made me shiver, even though I was sweating.

Once aware of my hands on his hips, L.B moved to put his hands over mine. Upon doing so, he stood up straighter and leaned his back against my chest, let his head flop to the side and rest on my shoulder. All the while, he managed to keep grinding his arse up on my groin.

He pulled my hands forward, so now they were wrapped tightly around his hips. My fingertips met in the middle of his body, resting above the waistband of his trousers. Up until that point, I had found a spot on the wall to focus my eyesight on, but something made me look down at L.B.

With his head tilted back like that, his chin was pointing to the ceiling and his neck was exposed. I watched another bead of sweat trickle down his throat and felt a vampire-esque urge to bite his neck. Instead, I dragged my gaze from the attractiveness of his neck and landed it on his lips.

His lips. Merlin. Merlin, fucking hell. His lips. Suddenly, I remembered what they tasted like when we shared an impulsive kiss on the tower right before he stood me up. My stomach lurched and I was overcome with a dreadful feeling. I wanted to leave then and I tried to pull my hands out from under his, but he held tight.

He shook his head and mouthed, ‘Song’s not over, yet.’ And so I resolved to stay there and wait it out. However, now L.B was staring at me with wide open eyes which had, up until that point, been either closed or half-closed. I watched his pupils dilate like they were taking in the same ragged breaths as L.B.

With a quick lick of his lips, L.B stopped dancing but remained with his back against my chest, hands tight over mine. He mouthed something to me that I was sure I had misread, but then he mouthed it again and I was sure he had just said, “Kiss me, you dolt.”

Against my better judgement, which I blame the strobe lights and the fact that I was incredibly turned on by L.B’s arse making itself at home in my lap for, I leaned down and kissed him.

The angle was a bit awkward to be sure, but I managed to place my lips over his. They tasted like salt and minty lip balm. The kiss itself didn't last long because once my brain caught up with my body, I pulled my lips off of his and stepped backwards.

Without looking at L.B or even trying to explain myself, I ran through the crowd and headed straight for the door.

The night air felt unforgivingly cool on my now sweat-covered body. I took a deep breath and, without checking to see if anyone was around (the mistake that landed me the front page of the Prophet), I disapparated. I didn't want to take the chance of L.B finding me again.

Once home, I vomited. Twice; once in a fern that Hermione gifted to me as a housewarming present, and the other time in my kitchen sink. I sat on my kitchen floor, vomit on my face, hands shaking, knowing I had just made an irreversible mistake.

I had let the love of my life, the man I longed for, think I was repulsed by his kiss. I left him there with no explanation. No understanding. I had let my hurt feelings and fear of rejection cloud my judgement.

So maybe you _can_ cry for me, seeing as I just put the proverbial last nail in the coffin that was my love life.

 

  
**Epilogue: Love me, Love Me Not**

For L.B,

You know who you are, obviously, and if you have taken the time to read this book, I hope you will understand why I left that night. I also hope you will understand that I love you, that I have for a very long time, and that each time I think of you, my heart quickens pace.

I understand if you don't want to speak to me even after reading this. I also respect that choice, as it is yours to make. However, I would ask one thing of you and that is: please speak to me. Even if it is against your better judgment and even if you feel like it could be a bad idea.

I want a chance to explain in person. I want to apologize, for real this time. I want to see you. I want to tell you that they way you see me, the way you treated me both annoyed the shite out of me and grounded me at the same time. Without you in my life, I feel like I am only going through the motions.

If there is any part of you that feels the same as I do, please, for the love of Merlin, meet me at my home (12 Grimmauld Place). I will arrange so the floo lets you in, hoping that you will take a chance on me.

And if not, just know if I could turn back time (legally), I would go back to that night in the club and kiss you until you understood just how much kissing you meant and would mean to me.

Love, yours most ardently,   
Harry James Potter   
Auror, Saviour, Daft Idiot


	13. Draco Finally Goes to See Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, guys. Draco goes to see Harry, finally.

**_Location: 12 Grimmauld Place  
Midnight, Draco Floo’s in Unannounced   
Seven Days After Getting Potter’s Book_ **

Draco paced in front of his fireplace. The flames roared at him, as if they were encouraging his rash thoughts. And Draco was getting dangerously close to doing it. That is, flooing into Potter’s home unannounced.

Draco postulated that it's what Potter had said to do. The epilogue clearly said that Potter had given him access to the floo, so whenever he was ready he should pop in. It’s just that Draco wasn't sure he was ready. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he ever would be ready. But after the dancing at the Ministry ball, the flirting at his office, and now the café, Draco was starting to wear down. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Potter and he could have a shot at this.

Against all rational thought, Draco stepped into his fireplace and uttered the words, “Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

                                                                                      ***  
Draco stepped through the fireplace in Potter’s living room. Grimmauld Place was dark. The walls were dark, the wooden floor was dark, even the tapestries and portraits hanging on the walls seemed dark. For a brief moment, Draco decided he must be in the wrong place because someone as Gryffindor as Harry Potter could not live here.   
 Suddenly, it dawned on Draco that it was midnight and Potter could very well be sleeping. He abruptly turned around and knocked into the fireplace, causing a small knick knack to knock itself out of place. With a small clunk, it fell over on the mantlepiece.

Before he could get back into the fireplace, he heard shuffling footsteps and a groggy Potter asking, “Who's there?”

Draco realized it was too late to turn back now. He had to face Potter. The man stood in the entryway of the living room and was pushing up his glasses and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand, his wand at the ready in the other. He wore a red bathrobe and red slippers. Bright Gryffindor crimson, which is what Draco had expected the entire place to look like. Much to his satisfaction, or dissatisfaction, the robe hung open slightly, exposing a bit of Potter’s bare chest.

“Draco? Is that you?” Potter said, lowering his glasses back to their rightful spot. He walked further into the room and flicked his wand at the lights, mumbling a quick spell which lit the entire room.

“Erm,” was all Draco could get out. He scrunched up his face and rubbed his eyes which had gotten used to the darkness and now needed time to adjust to the very bright living room.

“You came,” Potter said and it wasn't a question so much as it was a verbal sigh of relief.

Draco shrugged his shoulders and stepped back towards the fireplace. He really was feeling overwhelmed and didn't know what else to say, so he decided to say, “I should go.”

Potter slipped his wand into his robe pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the robe closed a bit more, “Bu--but you just got here.”

“Potter?” Draco found himself saying. The name felt odd on his tongue, as most of the time it was spoken to his friends about the man and very rarely to the man himself. Draco felt his palms getting sweaty, so he rubbed them off on his thighs.

“Mmm?” Potter stepped in closer, making his way across the room to stand directly in front of Draco.

Whether it was the close proximity of Potter or the fact that Draco felt he had nothing to possibly lose anymore, he wasn’t sure why he asked the questions that had been nagging at him for weeks. “Why did you run out on me in the club? Why do that if you really feel the way you said you did in the book? Why not stay and talk? Why didn't you ever just ask me?”

Potter looked down at the floor, ran his fingers through his hair, and shifted his weight before answering, “I was scared, Draco. I didn't want to be rejected again.”

Realization hit Draco. He figured Potter meant the Astronomy Tower. It was now or never, Draco surmised, so he decided to go all in, to lay it all out on the line for Potter. “The tower, I don't remember that. In my head it never happened.”

“What?”

“The tower thing,” Draco started, but stopped for a moment to step in closer to Potter, leaving only inches between their bodies now. Once he was looking directly into Potter’s emerald eyes, he continued, “The reason I never showed. I don't remember making those plans with you.”

“Really?” 

“Honest to Merlin.”

Potter’s body relaxed and he let his hands fall from their crossed position,“Well, shit.”

“Ha, yeah. You could put it that way,” Draco responded, letting his hands swing close to Potter’s now dangling ones. The back of his left palm brushed against Potter’s right palm and Draco felt a tingle work its way up from his hand to his stomach. The sensation wasn't enough. Draco found he wanted desperately to hold Potter’s hand, so he pushed his hand forward and slipped his index finger around Potter’s index finger.

Potter finished the motion, interlacing their fingers slowly. Once they were holding hands, Potter brought their now interlaced hands up to his lips. Draco watched as Potter leaned his head down to kiss the back of Draco’s hand. Upon contact, Draco felt his heart quicken because Potter’s soft lips kept placing kiss after kiss on the back of his hand. Potter whispered between kisses, “To think…so much wasted time.”

Draco’s heart was now pounding in his head. The feeling similar to ears popping at a high altitude. As he watched Potter move his kisses from the back of his palm to his wrist, Draco whispered, “Pott—er, Harry, I’ve wanted you ever since I knew what wanting was.”

At that admission, Harry looked up at Draco and, with the hand he was holding, pulled Draco into his body. Now chest to chest, Draco could feel Harry’s heart beating against his chest. Harry then wrapped his free hand around Draco’s waist, settling on the small of Draco’s back.

Draco leaned his forehead down and made contact with Harry’s forehead. The anticipation of what would come next had Draco’s breathing going ragged. Each deep breath Draco took only served to heighten his want for Harry. He was so close to Harry now that he was breathing in the minty freshness of the man's toothpaste, the coconut of his shampoo, and the stark menthol of an aftershave.

Senses on overload, all Draco could do was stand there forehead to forehead with Harry, taking in deep breaths and keeping his eyes shut tightly. Harry shifted, making sure not to pull his forehead away from Draco’s. With the new position, Harry was somehow standing closer to Draco, so close that Draco felt Harry’s nose collide with his own.

This is really happening, played on a loop in Draco’s mind as he waited for Harry to move in to kiss him. Their lips were all ready so close that Draco could taste each breath Harry exhaled from between his semi-parted lips.

Completely ready and also completely astonished that Harry hadn’t moved in to kiss him, Draco blurted out, “Kiss me, damn it.”

Draco felt Harry’s laugh before he heard it. Being so close, Draco felt the vibration of the laugh start in Harry’s stomach before it reached his lips. The warm air from Harry’s mouth hung like promises on Draco’s lips; promises of kisses to come.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Draco pushed his head forward until he felt the sweet, soft embrace of Harry’s lips on his own.

Softly at first, Draco puckered his lips. Then because he couldn't stand it anymore, because this was all he had wanted since he was at Hogwarts, Draco ran his hands up into Harry’s hair and pulled the man in deeper. Tilting his head and closing his eyes, Draco hummed at the taste of Harry’s tongue on his.

Harry’s hands were busy moving all along Draco’s body and Draco felt himself moaning into Harry’s mouth. Having those hands run up and down his torso, up and underneath this shirt, playing at the waistband of his trousers, was all Draco had ever wanted.

Pleasure took over and Draco pushed Harry backwards until they made contact with Harry’s couch. Carefully, Draco dragged his hands from Harry’s hair to support the man as he tilted him down onto the couch. Then Draco lowered himself onto Harry, so he could straddle the man.

At this angle, Draco felt the hardness of Harry’s cock against the inside of his thigh and it was driving Draco wild. Fevered, his hands yanked Harry’s robe open, exposing his bare chest. Harry hummed contentedly and moved to pull Draco's shirt off over his head, breaking the kiss for a second.

In the pause between kissing, Harry smiled at Draco and looked at his body hungrily. Draco smirked a little at the sight of the man underneath him. Catching Draco off guard, Harry moved Draco off of his lap and pulled him down on the rug, his robe falling off and exposing Harry’s cock.

Once on the floor together, Harry rolled himself on top of Draco and started to grind his hips against Draco’s pelvis. The gyrating motion caused Draco to moan loudly into Harry’s mouth as they kissed. Taking this as a sign, Harry moved his hand slowly down Draco’s torso. He quickly undid Draco’s trousers and pulled them down along with the silk boxers Draco was wearing.

Harry pulled his lips from Draco’s and straddled Draco. He licked his lips as he took in the sight of Draco’s now fully erect, cum glistening cock. Draco bucked his hips up, begging Harry to do something. Touch him. Kiss him. Suck him off. Something.

After what felt like an eternity to Draco, Harry lowered himself over Draco and and moved like he was going to kiss Draco’s lips. But instead kissed Draco’s jaw, and then his neck, then his collarbone. He dragged his teeth across Draco’s nipple and continued all the way down, stopping at Draco’s cock.

Wet with pre-cum, Draco’s cock twitched in anticipation. Even Draco’s hips bucked up again, begging Harry to take him into his mouth which he did. Draco felt Harry’s wet lips kiss the tip of his cock and then part before sliding down the length of his throbbing penis.

Moaning, “Fuuuckk, Harry. Ohhh, yes,” Draco arched his back up at the agonizing speed of Harry’s head bobbing up and down on his cock. Slowly, he moved it up to the tip and Draco muttered something that sounded like, “MmmfffHarrymmmfff.” Somehow even slower, Harry moved down Draco’s cock, which elected a very loud groan from Draco as well as a buck of the hips that pushed him further into Harry’s mouth.

Quicker now, Harry took Draco’s cock into his mouth as deep as possible and Draco was so close to cumming. He felt his orgasm building, building, building. He felt his body tighten, his breath quicken. And finally, he was releasing himself into Harry’s mouth with a garbled moan that started with “Haaarrrrryyyy,” and ended with, “Fuuuckk me.”

Smiling, Harry rolled over and laid next to Draco, who was shaking from his orgasm. Finally able to speak, Draco asked, “Do you want to fuck me, or not, Potter?” His confidence and cockiness flooded back into him and he was ready to let Harry fuck him. No, he was desperate for it.

“Oh, I am definitely going to fuck you, Malfoy,” was Harry’s response. As he spoke, he flipped Draco over onto his stomach and pulled Draco’s hips so his arse poked up in the air. Draco got comfortable in his position, which looked a lot like a cat stretching after a long nap.

Draco felt Harry’s hard, slick cock rubbing against his arse as Harry positioned himself on his knees behind Draco. Finally, Draco felt Harry running his hands across his arse cheeks, occasionally letting a finger dip into the crease and grazing across his entrance.

With each accidental graze of his hole, Draco felt the blood rushing back into his cock. Before Harry even stuck a finger inside of him, he was fully erect again.

Still, Harry massaged Draco’s arse and Draco impatiently thrusted his hips backward, encouraging Harry to get on with it. At that, Harry laughed and Draco heard him mumble a lubrication charm. And then felt the contrasting coolness of Harry’s index finger against his entrance.

“Fuck me, Potter.”

“Don't rush me, Malfoy,” Harry said as he pushed his index finger up to the knuckle inside of Draco, who grunted at the intrusion. Harry let his finger rest there for a moment before he began to push the rest of it inside. Before Draco knew it, Harry had two, then three fingers inside of him.

Draco let out a loud moan as Harry scissored his fingers inside. Then with a wet pop, he felt Harry pull his fingers out, mutter another lubrication charm, and place the tip of his cock at the entrance. Harry moved slowly, pushing into Draco gently. With another wet pop, Draco felt Harry inside of him. He tightened himself around Harry and heard Harry mumble, “Feels so good, fuck.”

Completely turned on again, Draco pushed himself backward, swallowing the rest of Harry’s cock. He heard Harry moan as he slide his hands from Draco’s arse cheeks to his hips. Draco loved the way Harry held tightly onto him.

Now fully inside of Draco, Harry began to push and pull Draco backward and forward, generating a good rhythm. On his elbows, Draco felt a slight burn from the rug against his skin, but ignored it. His cock was dripping with pre-cum and each time Harry thrusted inside of him, he hit that spot. The one that made Draco’s back arch in pleasure and head tilt back, releasing a string of expletives, “Fuckfuckfuckyesohmerlinyesfuckfuck.”

With that last thrust, Draco tightened around Harry and then felt the warm release of Harry’s orgasm filling him. And as if on cue, Draco felt himself cumming. Shaking, Harry pulled himself off of Draco and collapsed on the floor next to him.

Simultaneously, they both let out a sigh of relief before Harry said, “I think it's about time for bed, don't you?” Harry playfully pulled Draco in close to him, nuzzling his head into the crook of Draco’s neck.

“Mmm,” was all Draco could say, still breathing heavily. He looked up at Harry, who had on the most ridiculous grin. Hair matted to his forehead, cheeks flushed. And Draco had never felt so content in his entire life.

“Come up to my room and let me spoon you, yeah?” Harry said and Draco laughed, but let Harry guide him up the stairs into his crimson colored room.

Harry pulled back the sheets and Draco climbed in, cuddling himself up against a pillow and leaving his back to Harry. Eventually, he felt the softness of Harry’s body behind him, pulling him in closely. Then Draco felt Harry place a kiss on his shoulder before whispering, “Night, Draco.”

To which Draco responded, “Night, Harry.”

 


End file.
